Consequences
by SunnyFla
Summary: What if Wyndham had stopped George, and taken Mitchell? A different ending to S3E8, and its aftermath.
1. Chapter 1

**What if Wyndam had stopped George? What would be the consequences to all if S3E8 had ended differently? What follows is one theory. I'm not sure how many chapters this story may hold, but the first 2 chapters are posted. All bh characters, quotes and references belong to Toby Whithouse et al. I'm just playing in their universe for a bit. Any and all reviews are most appreciated. All errors are my own, and as this is a first foray into ff, I ask that forgive the same. I hope you enjoy. This is dedicated to The Blog, for starting this thought process.**

* * *

><p>George, wake up. Open your eyes, George," Nina called softly, wiping George's head with a cool cloth. "Come on, George!" She insisted. George's eyelids fluttered, and then opened.<p>

"Nina?" he whispered, his vision blurry.

"Yes, George, it's me. Come on, wake up. Focus."

"Hi, " he said, smiling as her face came into focus. He was lying on the sofa, and sat up slowly.

"Ooohhh," he groaned, one hand going to the side of his head. "What happened?" he croaked, the other hand rubbing his throat.

"Yeah, you've got a nasty bump there, but nothing is broken, " Nina told him. "You've probably got a bit of a concussion, but with us, it's probably almost healed." George smiled crookedly at her, then remembered Wyndam, and looked at her sharply.

"Are you ok?" he asked her, placing a hand on her swelling belly. She nodded, putting her hand over his. "Annie?"

"I'm ok, George," Annie answered, sitting next to him on the sofa.

"They're gone?" he asked, and Nina nodded. "Mitchell. Oh God, Mitchell! Did I…?" he couldn't finish his question.

"No," Annie told him. "You tried, but Wyndam stopped you. They took him, George! They took him!" she cried, tears spilling from her eyes.

"What? What? What? How? What? " George asked, his voice a raspy squeak. "What do you mean they took him? Took him where?"

"We don't know, "Nina told him. "Wyndam and his….people took him with them."

"We have to go after him, George! Who knows what Wyndam is…we have to go after him, now!" Annie cried harder, her words stumbling over each other. George put his arm around her, and shushed her.

"It'll be ok Annie, shhhh. What exactly happened? It's a bit fuzzy." He brushed away Nina's hand as she tried to put more ice on the bump on his head. "Nina, what happened?" he demanded.

"Wyndam seemed to know what you were going to do, and just as you turned to….you know….he was on you, grabbing the stake and throwing it off, and then grabbing you by the neck. He was going to break your neck, but Mitchell stopped him," she said, holding George's hand.

"And?" he prompted.

Taking a deep breath, Nina told him.

_Holding the stake high above his head, hearing Mitchell's ragged breaths behind him, George only stared at Wyndam. He would not let Wyndam turn his best friend back into a monster. Wheeling suddenly, George drew back the stake to drive it into Mitchell's chest. As fast as George was, Wyndam was faster._

_Blocking George's arm, Wyndam ripped the stake from his hand, and then had George by the throat before any of them could react. Mitchell started for Wyndam, but froze when Wyndam hissed in warning and then lifted George by the throat until his feet were off the floor. George clawed at Wyndam's hand, trying to breathe, but Wyndam's grip was too strong, even for George._

_"I'll kill him right here, Mitchell, "Wyndam warned, looking at Mitchell. Nina screamed and started toward Wyndam, but Mitchell blocked her way. _

_"No!" Mitchell yelled. "No, Wyndam, don't," he said, lowering his voice. "You don't have to kill him. I'll come with you, just put him down. Please." _

_"You're coming with me anyway," Wyndam told him, turning his gaze back to George, watching as George's face began to turn purple. _

_"Yeah, but I'll come without a fight. And I won't try to run," Mitchell bargained. Wyndam considered his words for a moment._

_"Very well," he said, starting to lower George. Mitchell let out a ragged breath and Nina unclenched her hands._

_Two things then seemed to happen at the same time. First, three other vampires came through the door, uninvited, each taking a position next to Mitchell, Annie and Nina._

_Second, at almost the same moment, Wyndam threw George across the bar, through the wall behind it, and into the hallway beyond! Nina screamed again and tried to run to George, but was stopped when one of the vampires grabbed her. A warning finger from the second vampire kept Annie from getting to George. Mitchell did not move, but after a moment, gestured to Nina that he heard George's heartbeat. Even though he lay unmoving in the hallway, George was still alive._

"_Now, where were we?" Wyndam asked, brushing his hands together and straightening his tie. "Ah, yes "he said, turning to Mitchell, "you are coming with me – without a fight," he smiled, and then nodded to the vampire next to Mitchell. At that, the vampire moved to tie Mitchell's hands behind his back. Mitchell stepped back and held out his arms, palms up. _

"_This isn't necessary, Wyndam. I told you, I won't fight. Just let me check on George first, "he said, starting toward the hallway._

"_No! He's alive, we both know that," Wyndam told him, stepping close to him. "And you will leave this way," Wyndam told him softly, but the threat in his eyes was clear. When the vampire started again to tie his hands, Mitchell did not resist._

_Wyndam turned to Annie and Nina. _

"_So, what is next for all of you? Besides my earlier promise of what happens if Mitchell here says no to me," he looked pointedly at Mitchell, "there are 3 rules for the 3 of you." He smiled a cold smile. "And listen carefully – I do not repeat myself." He walked slowly to Annie, then around her. "Rule one, do not try to find Mitchell or to help him," he said, looking at her for a long moment. "Rule two," he said, moving toward Nina, "do not try to run or hide from us." _

" _And rule three," he said, stopping in front of Nina and looking down into her eyes, "do not try to conceal the…baby…from us. Do we understand? Good!" he said, not waiting for an answer from any of them. "And just to help you feel…safe, some of my people will always be nearby, watching," he told Nina, with a broad grin. Then he turned to Mitchell, and his smile faded._

"_Samuel," Wyndam nodded to the vampire now holding Mitchell by the arm. Samuel started to pull Mitchell toward the door._

"_Wait!" Annie cried, and they all stopped. "Don't take him," she said to Wyndam. "Don't do this, please. Just leave Mitchell with us, and we'll stay quiet, no trouble," she pleaded. "Please, don't take him away," her voice now a whisper. Wyndam looked from Annie to Mitchell._

"_My, my, John, seems you've made the ghost fall in love with you. How disappointing." With a slight nod from Wyndam, Samuel pulled Mitchell to the door._

"_Just do what he says, Annie!" Mitchell called to her. "Tell George, do what he says!" he yelled, as he was pulled from the house and pushed into the waiting car._

"_Mitchell!" screamed Annie, as the last vampire left the house. She ran to the street, but the car was already speeding away. She caught a glimpse of the anguish on Mitchell's face through the back window as he looked back, but then Samuel put something over Mitchell's head, and he was gone.._

"And then he was gone," Nina finished. "We've been trying to wake you up ever since," she told George, "and that was over an hour ago." Annie was crying again, softly this time.

"Where are they taking him?" George asked. Nina shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. "Annie, can you, you know, rent-a-ghost to where Mitchell is?"

"No, I have to know where I'm going. I can't just send myself to Mitchell," she said, frustration clear in her voice. They were all silent for a moment.

"For the moment, we're going to take care of your neck and that bump on your head," Nina told George, as she went to get more ice.

"What now?" Annie whispered, resting her head on George's shoulder. "What do we do?"

"We're going to get him back!" George told her, folding her into his arms. "We're going to find him, and we're going to get him back!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Mitchell heard voices behind him, far away, murmuring. Something creaked, then clicked. A door? His head felt heavy and thick, a deep pounding making it difficult to think. Slowly, he opened his eyes, but everything was blurry. He squeezed his eyes tight, took a deep breath, and opened them again. This time, they focused better. He was in a large room, dimly lit, facing an empty wall. An empty chair was off to his left. He realized he was tied to a large wooden chair, shirt and shoes missing. His hands were tied behind the chair, and his feet were tied to the chair legs. This made no sense.

_Vienna? Was he in Vienna? Where was Carl? _Mitchell thought, his head full of pounding pain.

"Carl?" he whispered, his head falling to his chest with the effort.

"No, not Carl," a voice answered. He knew that voice. Painfully lifting his head again, he saw Wyndam walking toward him, and he swallowed instinctively.

"Hello again, John," Wyndam smiled. "The headache will go away in a bit – just a side effect of the shot Samuel gave you."

Mitchell squinted as the pain in his eyes took hold.

"Shot?" he asked, trying to stay focused on Wyndam.

"Yes, just something to make you sleep during the trip."

Memories flooded back to Mitchell - the house, Wyndam, George was hurt, Annie. He was pushed into a car, and someone put something over his head. Then he'd felt a sharp prick on his arm. He realized he'd been drugged.

"Wyndam, "he said out loud. "What is this?" he asked, struggling against the ropes.

"Relax, just a precaution," Wyndam told him. "We have to discuss some things, and I don't want you to get…distracted. We wouldn't want another Herrick-type accident, would we?"

"Where am I?"

"Somewhere safe."

"My friends, are they…?" he started to ask.

"They are alive, for now," Wyndam answered for him. Mitchell remained silent, trying to push away the pain in his head and eyes. "Whether they stay that way is up to you." Wyndam waited for Mitchell to understand. Mitchell dropped his eyes.

"So what now?" he finally asked, dreading the answer. Wyndam let out a short laugh.

"Right to it – I like that. Very well, let's get to it." Wyndam pulled the other chair over, and sat down across from Mitchell. He crossed his legs, and in his suit and tie, he made it clear he was in charge.

"I told you, you are going to be my attack dog. The Age of the Vampire has begun, and you will be part of it, on **our** side." Wyndam paused, letting his words sink in for a moment. Mitchell didn't move, waiting for Wyndam to continue. "Herrick was right about the revolution beginning. Actually, it began some time ago, and you're just late getting to the party. I want the old John Mitchell back, the one that Herrick recruited, the one who truly knows what it is to be vampire. The one they call Big Bad John. So, we are going to find him, and bring him back, and then make him an even better vampire."

"Too late, Wyndam," Mitchell shook his head. "He's gone forever. I'll never let him come back, so if that's what you're looking for, you may as well kill me right now."

"Ahhh, John. Do you really think you have a say in this? Do you really think you can control what you are, and what we made you? A short…attempt at being human does not make you one of them. And as we all know, you tend to do things that require you to - how did you put it? Oh yes - "wash bits of humanity out of your hair for a fortnight."

Mitchell's eyes grew wide, and his sharp intake of breath was audible.

"Yes, we know all about you. Did you really think we weren't keeping an eye on you? "

"Herrick…" Mitchell started.

"Acchh, Herrick," Wyndam said with annoyance, "got a bit too big for his own good. We were going to have to do something about him, but then you took care of that for us, didn't you?" Wyndam became very still, and leveled a hard gaze at Mitchell. "Killing him was not your right, John. We've still not decided what to do about that." Wyndam smiled again when Mitchell nervously licked his lips

"I killed my maker. I know the consequences for that. You really have no choice but to kill me. Think of the message that sends," Mitchell argued.

"Not going to happen, John. You'll make up for Herrick in another way. So, what to do now?" Wyndam said, standing up and moving the chair away. "How do we resurrect John Mitchell?

"I'm telling you, Wyndam, you're wasting your time. He's not here anymore."

"John, John, John. There is so much you don't know about being a vampire, John. You are so young, and inexperienced. For instance, do you know why the Old Ones do not make new recruits?"

"Ah, because you're too busy sleeping in coffins?" Mitchell answered sarcastically. He did not see it coming, but the slap jerked his head to the side, and he felt a trickle of blood in his mouth.

"Behave yourself," Wyndam warned him, as he started to walk around Mitchell's chair. "There are many reasons we don't make new recruits. One of those has to do with our blood. It is very powerful, full of memories, and death, among other things. We have found that it is overwhelming to any mere human we try to recruit. The new recruit cannot process it all, there is just too much for their still human brain. Unfortunately, the recruit goes insane, almost instantly upon waking that first time, if they wake at all." He paused, but Mitchell remained silent. "However, we have found a way to pass on our bloodline, to make vampires almost as strong as ourselves, to improve our species, and to build for the future. Do you know how we do that, John?"

"I don't care, Wyndam," Mitchell spat at him, "and its Mitchell, not John!"

"You should care, John," Wyndam continued smoothly. "We have found that if, over a period of time, an Old One feeds his, or her, blood to a certain type of vampire already made, a vampire with a certain knack for being vampire, he can survive it. Through this process, he becomes bound to the Old One that feeds him," Wyndam whispered into Mitchell's ear, leaning over the back of the chair. Mitchell jerked his head away, and was rewarded with a new stab of pain in his eyes.

"This special vampire," Wyndam continued loudly, still behind the chair, "then becomes stronger, almost invincible, and can then recruit at an accelerated rate. All the new recruits made by this vampire are then part of our line, so that at some point, if one of the new recruits is… special, he can be given an Old One's blood, and…well, you see how it goes. We have found it really works quite well," he finished with a smile. Mitchell remained silent, not liking what he was hearing.

"The important part of this conversation for you, John." Wyndam continued, "is that the vampire given the Old One's blood becomes bound to him, compelled to serve the Old One, and to follow orders without question." Wyndam's smile was not kind as he stepped in front of Mitchell. "Just like a good soldier," he finished, removing his jacket.

"No, Wyndam, don't," Mitchell said, shaking his head, understanding Wyndam's intention. "I don't want this," he yelled. "I can't do that anymore. If you need me to be an example, I will. I'll stay here, and be your prisoner, or your poster boy, or whatever you want. I'll tell the new recruits whatever you want me to. You can parade me round wherever you want, I'll preach the party line, and applaud everything you do. But I can't go back to being that, not that." His voice broke, and tears welled into his eyes. "Please!"

Wyndam was silent for a moment, looking down at Mitchell. Then he started to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. Mitchell roared as he tried without success to break free from the chair.

"Sorry, but this is going to happen, John. Don't fight it. You won't be able to anyway. It's been how long since you've fed? Weeks, months?" Wyndam paused, thinking. "Not since your tantrum at the facility, I'll wager. Tsk, tsk, not good, John, not good."

Someone behind Mitchell handed Wyndam a small knife. Wyndam cut into his own wrist, and let the blood spill onto his skin. Walking slowly to Mitchell, he held his bleeding wrist close to Mitchell's face. Mitchell pulled away as far as he could, looking away, but it didn't help. He could smell the blood. Its aroma was unlike anything he'd sensed before, and it was intoxicating, beckoning him, drawing him to it. He shut his eyes tight, and held his breath, trying to ignore it.

"John, don't fight this. You know there is a part of you that wants this. Just let him out," Wyndam said softly, pushing his wrist closer to Mitchell's mouth. Mitchell clamped his teeth together tightly, afraid to open his mouth to answer. He thought of Annie, her beautiful face, the dimple in her smile, the smell of her silky hair – and it helped, a little.

Seconds ticked by, and Mitchell stayed unmoving. He finally heard Wyndam sigh, and walk away. He slowly opened his eyes.

"I really wish you would do this the easy way, John," Wyndam returned, wiping wrist with a towel. "I don't want to be violent about this. It would be so much better, and faster, if you accept this." Wyndam waited, but Mitchell said nothing. "As you wish, we'll do this the hard way," Wyndam told him.

"Just kill me, Wyndam!" Mitchell shouted at him. "You'll never be able to trust me, and you know it! Look what I did to Herrick! Why take the risk? Just end it now, and you won't have to worry about me!"

Wyndam's hand was around Mitchell's throat before Mitchell heard him move.

"You will never again ask me to kill you, do you understand? You will be what I want, for as long as I want!" Wyndam hissed, inches from Mitchell's face. Abruptly, he let go of Mitchell's throat. "Just to be clear, and so you understand," he said, his voice calm again, "if you try to end your life, or try to get someone else to do it, Annie will be destroyed." Mitchell's eyes widened, and he shook his head.

"No! This is between you and me. Leave her out of this!"

"Oh, she is very much a part of this. You saw to that, didn't you?" Wyndam taunted. Mitchell lowered his eyes, the guilt stabbing at him.

"So, are we clear?" Wyndam demanded. Mitchell nodded almost imperceptibly, feeling panic rise up in his chest.

"Good! Now, Samuel, if you please," Wyndam said, gesturing to Mitchell. Samuel came to stand in front of Mitchell, and Mitchell prepared himself for the blow that was sure to come. It never did. Instead, Samuel held up a syringe, and quickly pushing Mitchell's head to one side, he injected its contents into Mitchell's neck.

"What was that?" Mitchell asked.

"Just something to help you relax," Wyndam told him, starting toward the door. "We'll give that a few minutes, then try again."

"Wyndam," Mitchell called, and Wyndam turned to face him. "Why me? There are so many others that have to be better than me, who would jump at this chance, so why bother with me? Why can't you just leave me alone?" Wyndam smiled again, and simply shook his head before leaving the room. Mitchell knew he would come to hate that smile, very soon.

"Samuel, is it? How about a cigarette?" Mitchell asked, knowing Samuel was behind him somewhere. Samuel didn't answer him. "Aw, come on, just one cigarette. Might help…" he coaxed, but Samuel remained silent.

The drugs started to work, and Mitchell felt his muscles relaxing. He shook himself, and tried to sit up straighter in the chair. Squeezing his eyes shut, he focused on Annie, picturing her soft brown eyes, her smile, the curls in her beautiful hair…. His head slowly dropped onto his chest, and he jerked awake, growling. He dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands, this time focusing on the pain to stay awake. But the drugs were strong, and his head fell forward again. His breathing became slowed, and then his chest stopped moving. Samuel pulled his head back by the hair, but Mitchell did not stir.

He was dreaming about blood, and it was a glorious dream. He was feeding, and it was like no other blood he had tasted. It was deep, sweet, and intense, full of strength, pulling him into it. He groaned as it slid down his throat, filling him with a desire for more. The desire became all consuming, taking over his very being. There was only this blood, and he needed more. He drank deeper, and frantically, trying to take in as much as he could. There was no other thought, just the drinking. Suddenly, it was gone, ripped from him, and he felt lost, empty and alone. He cried out, opening his now jet black eyes.

Wyndam was again sitting in the other chair, smiling, and wiping the blood from his wrist.

"Much better, John," Wyndam told him.

Mitchell didn't understand, still lost in the blood. As Wyndam started to laugh, reality returned to Mitchell, and rage filled him as he realized it had not been a dream.

"I'll kill you, Wyndam!" he screamed, straining against the ropes. "I swear, I'll kill you!"

"No, you won't, John. You will soon beg me to help you," Wyndam told him, walking out the door.

Mitchell stopped struggling against the ropes, despair welling up inside him. _Oh, God, what had he done?_

oooooooooo


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**What if Wyndam had stopped George? What would the consequences be to George, Annie and Nina? This is one possible outcome of a different ending to S3E8. being human characters, quotes, and references all belong to Toby Whithouse and Co. I'm just lucky enough to be taking a vacation in their incredible world. All errors are mine, and mine alone! Reviews are most appreciated! Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

><p>It had been three days since Mitchell was taken. Georg, Nina and Annie had been trying to decide what to do, or how to do whatever it was they needed to do. They spent most of those three days, and nights, trying to come up with something, and crying. So far, they'd had little success.<p>

The papers were still reporting on the poor sap that was framed for the Box Tunnel 20 murders, and they now knew that it was Wyndam who had arranged it. They assumed this also meant Wyndam was now in charge of the vampires.

Annie thought she saw a someone watching the house, but could not be sure. They were not foolish enough to think Wyndam had been bluffing, so they assumed he had someone close by.

They knew they had to get about information about Mitchell from the vampire community, somehow, but they didn't know how. The few vampires they'd come into contact with were not ones they could go to, let alone trust. Emma Hargraves would just as soon see them dead, Daisy and Ivan were nowhere to be seen, and Carl was in Bolivia. They didn't know any other vampires. Once again, George kicked himself for not asking Mitchell more about the inner workings of the vampires' world.

After much discussion, they had decided that George and Nina would go back to work tomorrow, watching for any signs of vampires, or vampire related deaths. If any showed up, then someone from the vampire system would have to clean up or cover it up, and that might lead them to Mitchell, or someone who could tell them something.

Nina also needed to keep an eye on the baby, and at the hospital she had access to tests and prenatal care. The pregnancy was progressing too fast, and none of them really knew what to do about it. Nina would use the hospital to get as much information as she could about the pregnancy without raising too many questions.

Annie decided to organize any and all information they had about the vampires, and see if there was anything there that might help. Perhaps there was a pattern or link that they could follow, all with the goal of finding Mitchell.

Over dinner later that evening, they were again discussing the return to work.

"Nina, promise me that you will be careful tomorrow. This guy Wyndam seems much worse than Herrick, and we can't put anything past him," George said.

"Believe me, I know! If anything even seems wrong, I will call you," Nina reassured him.

"I still don't like it. And Mitchell won't be there to…" George's voice caught, and he clenched his teeth. Nina put her arms around him, but after a brief moment, he pushed her away. "You make sure you are always around other people, Nina. Don't go anywhere in the hospital alone!"

"I promise, George. It will be ok!" she told him, squeezing his hand. Annie hugged them both.

At the hospital the next day, the other nurses surrounded Nina, happy to have her back, and asking if she was sure she was ready for work again. Even though it was annoying after awhile, Nina made herself stay with at least one of them.

Despite keeping an eye on the morgue and A&E, George found nothing to suggest vampire activity. He was taking linens up to the third floor when he was paged to the administration office. His stomach dropped. He was never paged, for anything. Immediately suspicious, he wondered if Wyndam was up to something, but he had to answer the page. Arriving at the admin office, Nina was waiting for him, having heard the page.

"Uh, hello. I'm George Sands," he told the clerk behind the desk. "I was paged?"

"Oh, yes. Here, this arrived in today's post for you," the clerk said, handing him a large padded envelope.

"Oh, thanks!" Relief flooded through George and he took the envelope and quickly left.

Looking at the envelope, George saw there was no return address. It was addressed in large printed letters to George, care of his department and the hospital address. The postmark was Barry. It was dated the day Mitchell was taken.

Looking at each other, George and Nina knew they needed to open this privately. They quickly went to the hospital basement, and George started to open the envelope. Suddenly, he stopped, looking up sharply. His senses were on alert, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. He pushed Nina behind him, looking about for the source of the threat. The vampire was sauntering toward them. George pulled his Star of David from beneath his scrub. The vampire raised a hand to shield itself.

"Put it away, dog!" it said, sneering. "I'm not here to hurt you, or your bitch."

"How original," George sighed. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"I'm your trainer!" the vampire said, laughing, "I'm here to make sure you, your bitch, and that ghost behave yourselves."

"My, aren't you the clever one?" George answered sarcastically. The vampire took a step toward him, but stopped when George pushed his medallion closer to the vampire.

"You are lucky Lord Wyndam doesn't want you hurt! I'll be around, though, to make sure you follow his rules, like good doggies!"

"Oh, joy!" George told him. "And what are you called? Do you even have a name, or do I just call you Wyndam's lackey?" The vampire hissed at him.

"You don't need to know my name. All you need to know is that Lord Wyndam is watching, we all are!" the vampire sneered.

"Oh, well then, Lackey it is! Why don't you run along now, and tell it to someone who cares!"

"Just remember, Lord Wyndam hasn't forgotten you!" the vampire sneered. "Be seeing you!" With that, the vampire turned and slowly walked away.

Nina sagged against George, letting out a ragged breath. George turned and put his arms around her, pulling her close. They didn't speak.

"Awww, isn't that sweet!" a female voice said. "The dogs are having a moment!" Whirling about, George saw a young blond woman, dressed in a nurse's uniform, grinning at them. Her eyes were vampire black. He immediately reached for his Star of David.

"Stop that!" she hissed at him, raising her hand. "Willie just told you, we're not here to hurt you – yet. We're just watching." George did not lower the Star of David.

"Stay away from us," George said evenly. "If your boss is so concerned about us, or has a message for us, tell him to come see me personally! Oh, how about on the next full moon!" Nina grabbed George's arm, trying to quiet him.

"Hello, Nina!" the vampire laughed. "Don't worry, pet, we're not leaving you out. Be seeing you, too!" she taunted as she walked away.

"Shit!" George cursed. "We have to do something, Nina! This is going to be impossible!"

"I know, George. For now, let's just go home. I'll tell the supervisor I'm sick, and we'll just go home," Nina said, fatigue taking hold. George nodded, and they cautiously left the basement.

Willie followed them home, not saying anything, and walked away when they went inside. They told Annie about the vampires, and how the one referred to Wyndam as Lord Wyndam. Making notes, Annie went over to the vista wall. Once again, it had papers taped to it, and a map. She added her new notes to the wall.

"What is this, Annie?" George asked.

"Well, I've been putting together what we know, like we said. And then I figured we should also include what we know about Bristol. Maybe there is some kind of link that will help. So, this side is Barry, and this side is Bristol, and the map in the middle is of Wales and England," she finished, smiling. George and Nina looked at her skeptically.

"What?" Annie asked. "I know, I know. The last time I did this, it wound up hurting Mitchell. Well, this time, it's to help him."

"Oh, George! The mail!" Nina reminded him. "What is it?"

"What mail?" Annie asked.

"I got something at the hospital today. In the post," George told her, pulling it from his coat pocket. Tearing the strip from the back of the large envelope, George looked inside, and then dumped the contents on the table. An envelope and a set of keys fell out. Picking up the keys, George slowly sat down, staring at them.

"George, what is it?" Nina asked.

"Its…" George started, but had to clear his throat. "They're Mitchell's keys," he said quietly.

"This has your name on it, George," Annie said, holding up the white envelope. "Who sent this?" Annie asked, looking at George, then Nina.

"The postmark is the day…that day. Mitchell must have posted it before he came here," George told her. Opening the envelope, he removed a single sheet of paper, and read aloud.

_George,_

_Don't freak out. Seriously, don't freak out right now. Go to Barry Island train station. My car is parked in the lot closest to the docks. In the boot, you'll find a taped up box. Bring the box back to the house to open it. DO NOT bring the car back. Leave it in the lot, you can get it later. _

_I know this is really weird, but trust me. I've set things up to help all 3 of you. But you have to start with what's in the box. Please, trust me, one more time. It'll all make sense when you see what's in the box._

_Mitchell_

"That's it?" Nina asked. "No explanation, no good bye, just 'go to the car, get the box'? My God, so much drama!"

"Nina!" Annie exclaimed.

"Well, I'm sorry, but that's what it is! What is so hard about just sending whatever it is all at once?"

"Nina, stop it," George said softly. "I know you're upset, but don't take it out on Mitchell."

"Ok, fine!" Nina sighed. "So, what are you going to do? Or rather, when are you going to the car?"

"I'm thinking tomorrow," George said. "I'll sneak out of work. We'll make sure the vamps see us in the hospital in the morning, and hopefully, they won't look too hard after that." George rubbed his hands together, considering the idea.

"You just make sure you are back in hospital before your shift ends. They need to see us leave together," Nina told him. He nodded in agreement.

The next day, things went surprisingly as they had planned. The blond vampire was waiting by the hospital entrance when George and Nina arrived. She gave them a cold grin, but they ignored her. George managed to duck out of the hospital mid-morning. Checking several times, he did not see anyone following him. He quickly made his way to the train station and to the parking lot nearest the docks. Mitchell's car was parked in a spot to the back of the lot.

It took a few moments of searching in the boot, but he found a mid-sized box hidden under several bags of clothing and junk. There was no name on it, but it was sealed with tape, and looked like it had been sent through the post several times. He stuffed both items into his backpack, and started to leave. A thought occurred to him, and he returned to the car, started it, and moved it to a different parking spot. Just in case.

While hurrying back to the hospital, he kept checking behind him, feeling like he was being followed. He never saw anyone, but remained uneasy. Once in the hospital, he stuffed the backpack into his locker and went to find Nina, letting her know he was back safely. The remainder of both their shifts was uneventful, but when leaving the hospital, Willie was leaning against the far building, watching them. He again followed them home, but said nothing.

As soon as they were inside the house, Willie sauntered away. Annie decided not to follow him, and instead, waited to see what was in the package from the car.

After making sure the blinds were drawn, and doors locked, George tore open the box, and poured the contents onto the coffee table. Out spilled money. Lots of it. In packets. With the bank wrappers still on. They all gasped, and Nina picked up a packet. There were also some envelopes, and what looked like a map.

George picked up and unfolded the map. It was of the United Kingdom. Different cities in England, Wales and Scotland were circled. Several were circled in red with a line through the circle. A few others were circled in green.

Folded up, amongst the money packets, was the title to Mitchell's car. It was now in George's name, with an address in Nottingham that George knew nothing about. On the map, Nottingham was circled in red.

There were also three envelopes. Each had one of their names on it, written in Mitchell's handwriting. None of them spoke. They just stared at it all.

Annie took the envelope with her name on it, and went and sat on the sofa. After long moments, she turned to the others.

"I can't," she said. "I just…." Her voice trailed off into a whisper.

Nina picked up the envelope with her name on it, opened it, and started to read it out loud.

_Nina,_

_You and I both knew this is where things would end. Although I thought it might be you, I hope you understand that it had to be George. _

"He knew!" Nina said. "He knew he was coming here to ask you to kill him, and he did this before! That bast…" she stopped and clenched her jaw when she saw the look on George's face. Then she continued reading.

_Don't be too hard on him. I pulled him in much more than even he knew. You were right. I knew what I was doing, and I did it for selfish reasons. But along the way, George made a difference in me. I think that's what we all love about him. He finds a way to make us all better. _

_Now here's the kicker. You make George better – better than I ever could. You bring him back to himself, and he needs that. So thank you. Thank you for staying with my best friend, and loving him. _

Nina stopped, her voice catching. After a moment, she cleared her throat and continued.

_I'm sending someone to help all of you. Don't turn her away, please. I know you won't want to, but you can trust her. You have to. _

_I'm putting a lot on you, I know, but help Annie, too. She's stronger than she knows, and you can help her see that. You may not know it yet, but you will be a great mum. So take care of yourself, too. They both need you very much._

_I am sorry._

_Mitchell_

Nina wiped tears from her face as she put the paper down. Annie was crying on the sofa. George was still silent, turning the car keys over in his hand. No one said anything for several minutes. Then George picked up his envelope, opened it, and removed the folded paper inside. He laid the folded paper on the table, and slowly pushed it toward Nina. Clearing her throat, she unfolded the paper, and started to read.

_George, _

_Yeah, I know. Don't ask. Seriously, don't ask. Just take the money, and use it for whatever you need._

_I have to tell you some things, to protect you, and Annie and Nina. These are important, because I don't know exactly what is going to happen now that I'm gone. _

_The map is self-explanatory, red cities stay away from, green ones are ok. At least, I think they're ok. At this point, I'm not sure. Find a small town, and stay quiet. I don't know where things stand with the vampires. I have an idea of who covered up the train murders, so you have to be very careful. If it's who I think it is, they are very powerful, and you need to stay away from them. You know what to look for. You've been around me long enough, and your senses will let you know when someone is a vampire. _

_I am sending someone to see you, to help you. Her name is Madelaine James. She's a vampire, but you can trust her. She and I go way back, and she thinks like I do. You'll know it's her because she'll bring you a Casablanca DVD. She'll find you in a few days. _

_You and Nina will need new identities. I didn't have time to get those for you, but Madelaine can help with this, too. Make sure you remind her. _

_When someone comes asking, and they will, tell them that I left with Herrick, and you have no idea where I am. Tell them that you never want to see me again. You have to be convincing, George, better than you are at being a spy. _

_Leave my car where it is for the moment. Don't bring it back to the house. When you are completely ready to leave, go to the car and just leave._

_That's the other thing. You have to leave Barry. And don't go back to Bristol. I know, we said we were done running. But this isn't running. This is surviving. You have to think of Nina, the baby and Annie. If you stay in Barry, someone, at some point, will come for you. So you have to leave. No notice at hospital, no telling the landlord, no telling friends. Just go. _

_And, I'm sorry to say, no more working at hospitals, or anything similar - you or Nina. That's where they'll look for you. Or at least start looking for you._

_That's about it. I know you're being all George about this, but don't. This is what had to happen. We both know it. Thank you for doing this. You really don't have to work at being human – you're the most human person I've ever known. These last few years have been better than I could ever have hoped for, and you've been the best friend I've had in this long life. So, no guilt, no regret. Just thank you. Take care of them, George. I'll miss you. _

_M_

_(Oh, and Annie – don't be angry, I took some of your colored pens. X)_

No one spoke. None of them could. George's shoulders started to shake, and tears poured down his face. Nina went to him, and wrapped her arms around him while he sobbed. Annie was still on the sofa, sobbing, too wracked with grief to move.

After long moments, they all quieted, but were still silent. Annie's hands trembled as she opened her envelope. There was a single sheet of paper in it. Unfolding it, she read its contents silently.

_Annie, _

_Thank you for loving me. _

_You made the last 100 years worth going through to find you._

_I wish that I had been what you deserve. _

_I will love you for all of eternity. _

_Mitchell_

"Mitchell!"Annie cried, tears flowing down her face. She read the words again, and buried her head in her hands. George and Nina went to her, tried to comfort her, but she rent-a-ghosted to her room, sobbing uncontrollably. Lying on the floor in the corner of her room, she curled into a ball, hugging Mitchell's blue shirt.

oooooooooo


	4. Chapter 4

George and Nina gave Annie some time to herself, but after a bit, went up to her room. They all needed to talk about all of this. Annie would not share her letter with them, the pain too raw. The three of them now sat on the floor in her room.

"He sent this thinking he'd be dead," George said quietly. "He knew I'd do what he asked." Nina nodded in agreement, squeezing George's shoulder.

"Now what do we do?" George continued. "He's not dead, and what he wanted us to do doesn't seem possible now."

"Why not?" Nina asked. "I mean, think about it. If he set things up for us to get away from here, away from the vampires, why not just go?"

"Were you there the night Mitchell was taken?" Annie asked her incredulously. "Do you really want to abandon him?"

"Annie, that's not what Nina meant," George said softly. "We're not going to abandon Mitchell. Think about this, though. If we do as Mitchell asked, if we get away from Wyndam and his people, then the search for Mitchell might be easier. If the vampires don't know where we are, they'll be wasting time looking for us, while we can look for Mitchell. It might just work to our advantage."

"Annie, I'm just tossing out ideas, nothing more," Nina told her.

"I'm sorry, it's just…" Annie curled her hands into fists in frustration.

"I know, Annie, I know." George took one of her hands, rubbing the back of it. "Come on, let's go downstairs and think this through."

They were silent as they took seats in the lounge, looking at the money still on the coffee table.

"George, there must be thousands of pounds here!" Nina said, looking at the money.

"Probably tens of thousands," he answered.

"Where did he get it all?" Annie asked.

"He is 120 years old, Annie. Investing can be profitable!" George told her.

"Mitchell? Investing? If he had all this money, why was he working as a porter in a hospital?" Nina asked. George just rolled his eyes at her.

"We have to hide it, George. Where can we hide it?" Annie said. They all considered this for a moment, and then they all came to the same conclusion.

After counting the money, and getting over their shock at the amount, they wrapped it all in plastic bags. Nina took the bags upstairs, and into the attic, where it all went into the cubby hole under the loose floorboard.

"Ok, Mitchell said he sent someone to help us," Nina started when they were all seated around the table again. "He said she'd be here this week. Should we wait to see what this…Madelaine says?"

"I think so. We continue to go to work, let them watch us, let them think we're doing what Wyndam said to do." George nodded as he spoke. "After we speak with this Madelaine, we can decide what to do."

"But that's days away, maybe a week or more, George!" Annie cried. "Wyndam's had Mitchell for how long now? How long can Mitchell really fight what they want him to be? We need to do something to help him now!"

"What, Annie? What should we do?" Nina asked her.

"I don't know, but something!" Annie waved off George when he tried to put his arm around her. "No, George, it's ok. I'm sorry. I'm just so frustrated! Mitchell came to Purgatory to find me, and I'm just sitting here while he's in trouble!"

"Maybe you can do something, Annie," George said, an idea coming to him. "We know the vampires can't hurt you, per Wyndam's instructions. We know there are vampires watching me and Nina at the hospital. What if you follow them? Follow them, and find out where they are meeting? Listen in, see what they talk about. I would think Mitchell and the revolution would be the topic of conversation for them."

"That's a great idea!" Annie said excitedly. "Oh, and I could plant a...a…bug where they are, so we could listen to them all the time! Oh, and maybe a camera to – oh, never mind the camera," she said, her face reddening. "But, a listening thingy would be great!"

"That's not a bad idea, Annie. We can probably get something off the internet. Can you get in and place it without being seen, though?" George asked her.

"Have you seen me rent-a-ghost?" she asked him with a wave of her hand.

"Just had a thought about someone that might help. What about Sykes?" Nina asked. "Is he still about? Could you ask him for help?"

"I don't know, Nina, but that's not a bad idea. He does have military training. I haven't seen him since he taught me those things, before I was taken to…that place. I'd have to find him," Annie said.

"That is a great idea, Nina!" George told them excitedly. "I think you need to try, Annie. Remember, Wyndam has it in for the ghosts, too, so Sykes' is part of this whether he wants to be or not!"

"Oh, and we need to call Tom! George, we have to warn him!" Nina told George. George looked annoyed for a moment, remembering Mitchell's comment about Tom looking at Nina, but nodded in agreement.

"So we have a plan," George said. "Let's hope it gets us somewhere."

It had been almost a week since they'd gotten the letters from Mitchell, and almost 2 weeks since Mitchell had been taken. There was still no sign of Madelaine. Annie had tried following the vampires from the hospital, but they did not meet up with other vampires. She did find that Willie and the blond were sharing an apartment, so she decided she'd try to plant a bug there when George got them. She was still trying to find Sykes, but wasn't having much luck. She wasn't having much luck finding any other ghosts, and wondered where they were.

Nina had had another ultrasound, and the baby seemed fine. It was just growing very fast. She got what she needed from the prenatal supplies, but was no closer to figuring out a delivery date. They were talking about the baby after dinner, trying to figure out what to do about it.

"Well, I'm going to have to get someone to tell me when this baby is going to be born," Nina said. "We can't just keep guessing and going along as though nothing is happening. If we are going to leave Barry, we need to go. If we go to a small town, like Mitchell suggested, I can get to the local doctor and make up some excuse about records. I think that's the best thing to do," she finished.

"You've thought about this a lot, haven't you?" Annie asked her.

"I have to, Annie!" Nina told her. "The way this is going, I don't have much time left until this baby is born, whether we're ready or not!"

"So where do you think…" Annie was interrupted by a knock on the door. They all jumped.

"Do you think its Madelaine?" Annie whispered. George shrugged as he went to the door. Opening the second door, he saw a man standing under the porch light. He was dressed in a blue suit, and had short blond hair. George's senses immediately tensed, the hair on his arms standing up. Vampire!

"What do you want?" George asked stiffly.

"Good evening, Mr. Sands. I believe you were expecting Madelaine?" the man said smoothly.

"Who? I don't know any Madelaine. I think you have the wrong house," George told him, starting to closed the door.

"Excuse me, and my poor manners, George," he said, inclining his head. "My name is Chambers, Lawrence Chambers. Lord Wyndam sent me."

"What do you want?" George growled.

"I'm afraid I have to inform you that Madelaine will not be arriving soon. Or ever. She has met with…an unfortunate accident. I believe she was bringing you this?" He held out a dvd box of Casablanca. George did not take it from him. "I really think we should go inside, George, and be civilized about this."

"George, who is it?" Nina called, coming to stand next to him.

"He's from Wyndam. He says Madelaine isn't coming. I'm assuming that means you killed her?" George directed his question at the vampire.

"Well, not me personally, but yes, she is gone. Now, shall we?" he said, gesturing inside the house.

"No, we shall not. You are not welcome here, and you are definitely **not** invited in. Now get the hell out of here!" George told him quietly, slamming the door closed, and locking it. He and Nina went through the second door, and locked it also. Before they made it back to Annie, the inner door opened, and the vampire walked in.

"How did you…?" Annie started.

"I thought Lord Wyndam explained that. It really isn't important. Now, Lord Wyndam has asked me to check on all of you. I'm glad to see you are all well." His smile did not reach his eyes.

"Where is Mitchell?" Annie demanded, trying to push, past George.

"Ah, the ghost," the vampire said, looking her up and down. "Mitchell is…safe, for now, and should concern you no longer. What should concern you is that I've been sent to remind you of the rules. You remember the rules Lord Wyndam gave you? There will be no running. There will be no hiding, no new identities, no leaving in the dead of night. Lord Wyndam thought you needed reminding." He began walking around the room, and seeing the vista wall, went over and looked at all the notes. He chuckled.

"I must say, Lord Wyndam usually does not give reminders. You must all be very special. Either that, or Mitchell has made a bargain with Lord Wyndam," he taunted. "Although, I don't think Mitchell is in any position to bargain for anything," he said thoughtfully, and then smiled broadly at George. George remained silent. "So, whatever Mitchell left you, whatever instructions he gave you, whatever plans he arranged, they are all gone. Lord Wyndam will not tell you again. Do not leave. If you try, it will not go well for any of you, including Mitchell." With that, the vampire turned to leave.

"Larry, is it?" George said with contempt. The vampire slowly turned back to George, annoyance on his face. "How do we even know Mitchell is still alive? How do we know you still have him? I think you should take me to him."

"You don't know. And no. You will not be seeing Mitchell again. He is not returning, and will not phone, or email or text you. I suggest you concentrate on your immediate situation," he said, nodding to Nina. "And you really should call me Lawrence, especially since we're going to be neighbors!" he said stiffly.

"Neighbors?" Nina asked, her mouth going dry at the thought.

"Yes, Nina." Lawrence smiled. "I'm moving in just across the road." He did not have to verbalize the threat in his voice.

"Well, **Larry**, here's the thing. You don't want to be our neighbor – it might not be healthy for you," George threatened. "And your boss can threaten us and remind us all he wants. We **are** coming for Mitchell. You go back and tell your boss that. And if he has any more messages for me, he can bring them himself. I'm tired of his lackeys," George spat at the vampire.

"Are you sure you want Mitchell back?" Lawrence asked softly. "The time he's spending with Lord Wyndam is being most…productive." He turned again to leave. "Be careful what you wish for," he laughed, shutting the door behind him.

oooooooooo


	5. Chapter 5

Mitchell was still tied to the chair. Wyndam had not been back to see him, but he didn't know how much time had passed. From what he could see, there were no windows in the room, and no clock, so he had no idea what day it was, what time, or even how long it'd been since Wyndam brought him here. Samuel was the only other person he saw, and Samuel did not speak to him.

He was hungry, but tried to ignore it. His thoughts were of George and Annie. He wondered if George was really ok, and if the mail had arrived at the hospital yet. He wondered if Annie missed him, and what she was doing. He hoped she'd found a way to go through her door. God, he missed her so much, it hurt. Missed her face, her laugh, and the tea she used to make him. The joy he felt at finding her in That Place, and their walk along the sea front, were some of the best memories he had. All these memories, though, were also filled with pain and guilt, for what he'd done and how he'd betrayed her trust. He made himself feel that pain, knowing he would have to draw on it again when Wyndam returned.

After uncounted times of asking, Samuel still would not bring him the pizza and beer he'd been asking for. He needed to eat, the hunger was getting stronger and he needed the food to control it. Samuel also had not brought him a cigarette. He didn't know which was worse – waiting for Wyndam, or not being able to have a smoke. He'd also demanded to use the bathroom, but Samuel just ignored him. Without food, he didn't need to use the men's room, he just wanted out of the damn chair, and Samuel knew this.

The hunger was taking its toll, and Mitchell was becoming more and more exhausted. He was asleep when the sound of the door closing woke him. He jerked awake with a start. Wyndam had returned. Smiling, Wyndam locked the door.

_Yeah, I really hate that smile, _Mitchell thought_. Can't wait to bash it from his face. _

"You don't look well, John, not well at all," Wyndam started. "I know I've been away for a bit, but I had hoped you would have asked Samuel for something to drink."

"Yeah, well," Mitchell snorted, "I'd love a beer and a cigarette, but Samuel here, won't bring me either, the bastard."

"Here, let me," Wyndam said, holding a cigarette to Mitchell's lips. Mitchell put his lips around it warily, eyes on Wyndam, waiting. Wyndam just lit the cigarette, and let Mitchell take a deep pull of it.

_God, it was good_, Mitchell thought, closing his eyes for a moment, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs. _George would be so disappointed in him._

When he opened his eyes again, Wyndam was standing in front of him, shirt sleeves rolled up, still smiling. Without speaking, he took the cigarette from Mitchell, and crushed it beneath his shoe. Mitchell slowly exhaled the smoke, blowing it at Wyndam. Wyndam chuckled.

"Now," Wyndam said to Mitchell, "shall we get on with it?" Placing his hands on the chair arms, Wyndam leaned in close to Mitchell. Mitchell forced himself not to move, the smell of Wyndam's blood sharpening his senses.

"What's it to be, John?" Wyndam asked softly. Mitchell didn't answer, just stared at Wyndam with challenge in his eyes. Wyndam's gaze was intense and threatening, and after a few moments, Mitchell lowered his eyes. Wyndam sighed, disappointed, and Mitchell felt the sting of the needle as Samuel jabbed it into his neck.

"My patience is wearing thin, John," Wyndam said, straightening. "You should consider whether you really want to annoy me any more than you already have. It would be a mistake to make me angry," Wyndam warned him. "Your friends might not like it."

"Yeah, well, being 'young and inexperienced' leads to mistakes sometimes. And do you really think threatening my friends is gonna change anything? I'm telling you, Wyndam, what you're looking for is not here anymore! You can threaten to kill my friends, to kill as many people as you want, but that…vampire is not here anymore!"

"Ah, John, after our last meeting, I think we both know that's not true, hmm?" Wyndam taunted.

"Fuck you!" Mitchell yelled at him. The forceful blow from Wyndam, quick and unseen, almost toppled Mitchell onto the floor. His ears were ringing, and he had to shake his head to clear his vision.

"That's twice, John. I'm making an allowance for your shortfall in manners because we are just getting started. But it will not continue." Wyndam's tone made it clear he would not tolerate any more insults. Mitchell wondered if that was his way out of this. Would Wyndam kill him if he made Wyndam angry enough?

"Dying is not the worst thing that can happen to your friends, John. You should consider that," Wyndam told him, opening the door to leave. "The sooner you realize there is only one result for you in this, the better things will be for all of you." Wyndam closed the door, leaving Mitchell with Samuel.

Once again, the drugs were starting to work. Mitchell tried to force his eyes to stay open, but it was a losing battle. He thought of George and Annie, and made himself remember the pain he had caused them, and to feel the guilt for all he'd put them through. He tried to focus on the anguish on Annie's face when she learned what he'd done in Bristol, and the contempt on George's face at the fighting cage. He tried to hold on to the shame and the pain, and the guilt. If he could only hold on to the guilt, then he could resist the blood, he could resist Wyndam. He had to hold on to the guilt.

Then he smelled the blood. It felt like the dream again, but part of him knew it was real. He tried to open his eyes and move away from it, but couldn't. The draw of its sweet aroma was overwhelming, and he was so hungry. In his dream, he found himself looking for the blood. He couldn't seem to find it, but he knew he had to. He could smell it, but where was it? Breath quickening, he knew he had to find it, to drink it in. Faintly, he heard a voice far in the distance, asking him if he wanted the blood. Yes, he wanted it, he needed it! God, he was so hungry for it!

"Here, come get it," the voice told him, but he still could not find it. Panic took over his body, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his eyes searching frantically behind closed lids for the source of the voice.

"Here, here it is, John." suddenly, the voice was close to his ear. "Go ahead, drink," the voice told him. When he felt the blood against his lips, he pulled it into his mouth, drinking deeply. Relief flooded through his body, and he lost himself in the blood. He savored the feel of it in his mouth, running down his throat, spreading through his body. All thoughts of Annie vanished, and all the pain and guilt were cast aside. Once again, there was only this blood, and it was all he needed, all he wanted. It gave him power and strength, and a level of drunken euphoria that he'd not felt before. Oh, he'd been blood drunk before, but not like this. This was…he couldn't describe it. Then he didn't care. All that mattered was more, and that he stayed with it forever.

"That's enough," the voice told him. "You have to stop now." Panic seized him again. "Don't worry, there will be more soon," the voice reassured him. Somehow, Mitchell knew he could trust the voice, he knew that it would come again, and there would be more of this blood. He relaxed his teeth, and the blood flowing into his mouth stopped. His head fell against the back of the chair, and he was lost in blood-drunk unconsciousness.

"Good," Wyndam said to Samuel. "He's ready. Tomorrow. Have one here tomorrow," he ordered. Samuel nodded.

"Excuse me, sir?" Samuel said. Wyndam turned to him. "Are you going to tell him what this means for him? Should I bring…?"

"No," Wyndam shook his head. "John will have to learn that the hard way. It's the only way he'll understand," Wyndam said, closing the door behind him.

oooooooooo

"Are you sure about this, Edgar? He's still fighting you, and from what I see, winning, except when you are feeding him," said the tall red-haired vampire.

"Don't worry, Thomas. He'll be ours within the month. He's already lost, he just doesn't know it yet." Wyndam told Thomas. The two of them stood outside Mitchell's room, watching him through the viewing space in the back wall.

"You best be right, Edgar. You're investing a lot in him, and from the reports I've read, he's very unpredictable and untrustworthy. A loose cannon."

"Thomas, you know the power he has. It comes from the very strength he's using to fight me. You know what he can do for us. He, and his power, will serve us well. John Mitchell will be worth it, believe me," Wyndam reassured him.

"He better be, Edgar. He better be."

oooooooooo


	6. Chapter 6

**What is Wyndam took Mitchell? As usual, bh is not mine, just a turn about the block. Reviews are most welcome, hope you enjoy.**

* * *

><p>Consciousness slowly returned to Mitchell, seeping its way through the red haze. He felt brilliant, and smiled. Blood-drunk euphoria was a good thing, even if it was because of Wyndam's blood. He had the fleeting thought that he shouldn't feel this euphoria from another vampire's blood, but at the moment, he didn't care.<p>

At the moment, he didn't care about much of anything. This power, this feeling, was what mattered. Everything was just as it should be. **He** was just as he should be.

He tried to stand up, but found he was still tied to the chair. Annoyance flared hot, and he looked for Samuel. He could sense that Samuel was still in the room.

"Samuel," he said, taking a deep breath, calming himself. "I need to get up. Untie me." Samuel did not respond. "I can't feel my arms or legs anymore. Untie me." Knowing Mitchell was lying, Samuel remained silent.

"Samuel! Untie me!" Mitchell demanded. He heard Samuel chuckle behind him. "Untie me, you bastard, and we'll see how long you laugh!" he threatened half heartedly. He felt too good to be really angry. Silence again from Samuel.

Sighing heavily, Mitchell let himself feel the remaining euphoria. It was so glorious. He felt as though he'd fed on hundreds of humans, as though he was drinking from them as the last of their life flowed into him. It was what he loved, the feeling of their life ending with that final drop.

Insistently, rational thought tried to push through the euphoria, and the haze started to dissipate. He vaguely remembered that he was supposed to be doing something. He wasn't supposed to be….what? He was supposed to be thinking about….

_What was he supposed to think about? There was something._ He felt a little scratch begin in his mind, wanting him to pay attention. _What was it? _

_Something about…not feeding, not being what he was. Was that it? _He felt the beginnings of a headache, and closed his eyes, trying to stop whatever his mind was trying to tell him. It didn't work. _Wyndam, something about Wyndam. Not being what Wyndam wants. _That's it. He was supposed to be fighting Wyndam. _But why? This feels so good. This is what he is. Shouldn't he feel this way all the time? _

Shaking his head, more of the red haze faded, and he slowly remembered.

_Annie. It was something about Annie, and George, and…ahhh, this was too hard! _The headache came on full force, and he rested his head against the back of the chair. Thoughts of Annie and George kept trying to push through the haze, and the pounding headache. Shame slowly started to filter into him as he realized what he'd been thinking.

_Not fighting Wyndam_, he thought. _Shit. It's been so long, trying __**not **__to be the monster. It was just so hard. _

Realizing how close he was to giving in to Wyndam, tears welled in Mitchell's eyes. Deep, in whatever part of a soul he had left, he knew Wyndam would win. He knew he was weak, and if he stayed here, That Mitchell would be back. That Mitchell, feeling this power and this blood lust, was unimaginable.

_But I am the monster. Have been, over and over. Shouldn't I just be what I am? _he asked himself. Once again, he thought of Annie, and shame and guilt filled him for just asking such a question.

"I have to get out of here," he whispered. Sucking in deep breaths of air, Mitchell tried to calm himself. The sudden smell of the dried blood on his chin and chest plunged him back into the blood, and the hunger slammed into him. His body shaking, eyes black and fangs out, the desperate need for blood took over, and he hissed.

It was long moments before the shaking passed. He held his breath, trying not to think of the blood around his mouth. He tried to picture Annie's face, but he couldn't. All he could see was red. He concentrated on her name. If he concentrated on her name, her face would come to him.

"Damn you, Wyndam," he finally said out loud. He had to get away from Wyndam, he had to escape. If he could get away now, he might have a chance to save himself. And then what? What about George and Annie and Nina? Wyndam's threat against them was very real. If he ran, Wyndam would kill them, without hesitation. Mitchell knew this. Somehow, he'd have to warn George.

"How the hell do I do that, tied to this damn chair!" he asked out loud. "Shit," he said softly, his head pounding. He heard Samuel chuckle again. "I swear, I get out of this chair, I'm gonna rip your head off!" he promised Samuel.

Sighing, he closed his eyes, and again rested his head on the back of the chair, trying to think. There had to be a way out of this. He wished the pounding in his head would go away. Without meaning to, he fell into a red and black sleep.

oooooooooo

Once again, the closing door jolted him awake, his senses full on. Hearing the lock click into place, Mitchell steeled himself for the coming fight with Wyndam, but it wasn't Wyndam. With surprise, Mitchell realized he could no longer sense Samuel, and knew he was alone. Even more surprising, he was no longer tied to the chair. His hands were resting in his lap, his feet stretched out in front of him.

"About time, Samuel!" he said out loud, and scrambled to stand up. Suddenly dizzy and weak, he immediately sat back down.

_Must be the drugs, _he thought_. _Slowly, he stood again, and looked around the room. Placed behind his chair was a long metal table, and Wyndam's chair was set at the left end. There was no other furniture in the room. The back wall was painted with some kind of mural, dark, and full of trees. Mitchell caught a glimpse of red in the painting, but didn't bother to look closer. Instead, he looked at the table. A silver tray was on the table, holding a small glass bottle and a syringe. He assumed this was the drug they were using on him. Picking up the bottle, he swallowed nervously at the amount of liquid it held. Apparently, he was in for several more sessions with Wyndam.

A folded newspaper lay at the end of the table. He quickly opened it and looked at the date. 26 March 2011. He'd been here 2 weeks? That was assuming the paper was current and today's date. But he'd only seen Wyndam twice. How long had he been drugged and out of it? The paper was The Manchester Evening News, and he wondered if he was in Manchester.

The door was on his right, and Mitchell considered how he was going to get out, assuming there were guards outside the door. He scanned the room again, looking for a weapon of some kind. The wooden chair was heavy and thick, and he doubted he could quickly break it apart, feeling as weak as he did. The drug would take too long to work. The other chair was plastic and metal, and might be useful, if he had room to fight. That left the syringe, and the tray. Not much to go on, but they were all he had. Reaching to pick up both, he suddenly felt his stomach cramp, sharp pain shooting through it. His hands slammed onto the table, catching him, holding him up. With eyes shut, he tried to take even breaths. The pain lessened.

_Gotta be the drugs_, he thought again. Opening his eyes, something caught his attention. In the crook of his left elbow, there were two puncture marks. Looking closer, he saw they were not needle marks. These were fang marks.

"What the fu...? Who the hell bit me?" he said out loud. He hadn't been bitten by anyone since Lauren. The wounds were only partially healed, so it had to be recent, while he was here. But who – his head snapped up as the answer came to him.

"Wyndam," he said out loud, looking closely at the marks. "What the fuck?" he said again, not understanding. Why would Wyndam feed from him? It made no sense.

The cramp hit again, stronger this time, doubling him over. Taking deep breaths, he was finally able to straighten up. He picked up the syringe and tray, intent on getting out of the room. He started to drag the plastic chair toward the door when another wave of cramping pain came, dropping him to his knees, the tray clattering to the floor. Breathing through the pain did not help. Instead, the pain intensified, and became constant, knocking him to the floor. He didn't have the strength to try to get up, and the pain engulfed him. Curling up on the floor, he wrapped his arms around his middle, trying to stop the pain.

The door opened, and he knew it was Wyndam. Squinting through pain, he also saw Samuel, pulling a young woman by the arm. Wyndam's smile was cold, and triumphant. Another wave of pain hit, and Mitchell closed his eyes against it.

"Samuel, if you please. What's the matter, John?" Wyndam asked. Samuel picked Mitchell up from the floor and pushed him back into the chair.

"John, what is it? Are you hungry?" Wyndam asked again, still smiling.

Mitchell tried to stand up, but couldn't, his legs too weak.

"That won't be necessary, Samuel," Wyndam said, as Samuel started to tie Mitchell's hands. "John is hungry, even if he doesn't know it yet. And we're going to make sure he gets something to satisfy that hunger." Wyndam's smile faded. Mitchell felt himself start to sweat, trying to control the pain in his stomach.

"I've been hungry before, Wyndam, and this isn't it. There is something wrong, the drugs…something," he told Wyndam as another wave of cramping hit him. Wyndam laughed softly, but did not offer any explanation.

"I'm giving you a choice today, John. You will still feed, but you get to chose from whom."

"Wyndam, I'm sick. Something is really wrong!" Mitchell told him, hands clutching his stomach.

"No, John, you're not sick. This is perfectly normal, part of the process. You're just hungry." Wyndam moved the second chair across from Mitchell and sat down, facing him.

"Now, that choice you have," Wyndam said, waiting for Mitchell to look at him. "My blood, or hers." It was a statement, not a question. Wyndam waited. When Mitchell finally understood, Wyndam continued.

"You accept my blood, consciously and deliberately, or you can feed from this lovely young woman," Wyndam nodded to the woman pressed up against the wall, crying. Unable to stop himself, Mitchell looked at her, and heard her rapid heartbeat.

"Choose carefully, John," Wyndam warned him, "as both choices have consequences." Mitchell didn't answer. His eyes darted to the door, and he licked his lips nervously.

"You won't make it out of this room, John," Wyndam said softly. "You are so hungry you can barely sit up." Mitchell closed his eyes, trying to fight the pain, and ignore the woman's heartbeat.

"John, you disappoint me. Do you really think you can fight this? Fight what you are?" Wyndam leaned in, and Mitchell opened his eyes. "Do you really need proof, John?" Mitchell wouldn't answer. Wyndam sighed, and skewering Mitchell with his gaze, asked the telling question. "Have you thought about my blood?"

Again unable to stop himself, he did just that, and his stomach groaned, but the pain lessened. Wyndam smiled at the surprise in Mitchell's eyes. Mitchell could feel it, he **was** hungry, and it was washing over him, taking control. He knew he didn't have the strength to run for the door, and now the hunger wouldn't let him. Attempting not to play Wyndam's game, he said nothing.

"Come now, John, what is it to be?" Wyndam coaxes. "You really don't want me to choose for you. This young woman would not enjoy that."

"What do you mean consequences?" Mitchell asked, again closing his eyes, dreading the answer.

"If you chose my blood, you will have to use your fangs to get to it. You will make the conscious decision, drug free, to accept my blood," Wyndam stopped, waiting.

"And if I chose the girl?" Mitchell whispered, pain cutting off his breath.

"If you chose the girl, you will drain her and kill her."

Mitchell doubled over in the chair, crying out as the pain ripped through him. It took several moments for it to subside enough that he could sit back up, and look at Wyndam. Wyndam raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

"And if I chose neither?" Mitchell asked quietly.

"Then Samuel will drain and kill the girl in front of you, and you will still drink my blood." Wyndam's voice was matter-of-fact as he answered.

"Not much of a choice," Mitchell said, trying to buy some time to think, and to regain some strength. "How about we order a pizza while I think about it for a bit?" Mitchell clenched his teeth as pain hit again.

"Ha! I see why Herrick liked you so much," Wyndam laughed. "No, John, you don't get to think about it for a bit. You decide now, or I decide for you." Wyndam's voice was again steady and cold.

"And if I choose you? What happens to her?" Mitchell whispered the question, knowing the answer, and knowing it was what Wyndam would use against him.

"She lives. I send her home to her mother, no harm done."

Mitchell lowered his head, and his shoulders slumped. Wyndam did know him too well. He had tried to be human for so long, fought so hard for it, and had succeeded, a little, through George and Annie. He would not let another human die because of him, not now. Through his pain, he glared at Wyndam.

"You really are a sick bastard, Wyndam," he said, not hiding his disgust.

"You won't feel that way for much longer, John. I promise you that," Wyndam answered, standing up and removing his jacket. He rolled up his left shirt sleeve.

Samuel moved the other chair alongside Mitchell's, but facing the opposite direction. Wyndam sat down, watching Mitchell. Silently, Wyndam held his bared arm out to Mitchell. Mitchell didn't move. After long moments, Wyndam sighed and lowered his arm.

"Samuel," Wyndam said. Samuel started toward the girl.

"No!" Mitchell yelled. Samuel did not stop. "Wyndam, no, don't," Mitchell said quickly. Wyndam simply held out his arm to Mitchell. Taking hold of Wyndam's wrist, Mitchell lowered his head. After a long moment, he looked once more at Wyndam, silently asking for a reprieve. There was none.

Eyes snapping black, he quickly sank his fangs into Wyndam's wrist. The first jolt of blood banished all thought, all hesitation, all resolve. There was only this feeding, and the power that came with it. The blood flowing freely into his mouth, Mitchell closed his eyes, and was lost.

He never asked if Samuel killed the girl.

oooooooooo


	7. Chapter 7

**Once again, bh belongs to TW, et al. Reviews are welcome!**

* * *

><p>This became Mitchell's existence. Still locked in the same room, he had no sense of the day or time, and neither Wyndam nor Samuel would tell him when he asked. He eventually stopped asking. He eventually stopped asking anything. It was simply time to feed.<p>

Mitchell could not remember ever feeding so much, or so often. He was no longer drugged, at least not with the sedatives, but it didn't matter. Wyndam always gave him the same choice - feed from Wyndam, or from the human. The threat of killing the human remained, albeit unspoken.

Eventually, Wyndam didn't even bother to verbalize the choice. The last few sessions, when Wyndam and Samuel entered the room, Mitchell simply sat down in the chair, and waited for Wyndam. Mitchell did not speak, but fed when expected. Wyndam continued to smile.

No longer tied to the chair, Mitchell paced the room during the moments when the blood euphoria left him. There was nowhere to go, but he could not sit still for long.

Samuel would bring him a bit of water to drink each day, but no food. The only thing he was allowed to feed on was the blood. He no longer asked for food, or cigarettes. Occasionally, Wyndam would give him a cigarette, when Wyndam seemed in a good mood. It was not often.

After the most recent session with Wyndam, Mitchell's senses were slowly returning. With them, came that now familiar moment of panic, when the blood euphoria was leaving him. Jumping out of the chair, he began pacing the room. His hands shaking, he balled them into fists. The frequency of feeding was resulting in a sharper crash each time the euphoria left him.

_Christ, why was he doing this to himself?_ Stopping suddenly, his eyes tightly closed, he gulped breaths of air, forcing the panic aside. Finally, the shaking slowed. _That's better._

Sitting down in the chair, he slowly regained control of himself. He knew Wyndam would return soon, so he tried to use this moment to ground himself. Wyndam always seemed to know when the blood euphoria wore off.

_Not the human_, he told himself. _Not the human_. It had become his mantra, helping him each time. But it was becoming harder to refuse the humans. Their hearts beat so loud, and the rhythmic pumping of their blood was hypnotizing. Each time he heard it, the desire was almost overpowering.

He did know that Wyndam was becoming more and more disappointed with him, that he didn't feed from the human. That disappointment was starting to bother Mitchell, but he didn't know why. Right now, he didn't have the will to figure it out.

_That little scratch of conscience, _he reminded himself. That part of him that Herrick always hated. So far, he'd managed to hold on to it, and resist the humans paraded before him. _Not the human, not the human._

Sitting in the chair, he was exhausted, most of the recent blood haze now gone. As rational thought returned, his conscience again asked its question. _Why does Wyndam need me to take his blood willingly? _His head started to ache again, as it had each time he thought of this, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

_Not the human_, he reminded himself. _Annie, help me! _The pain in his head stabbed into him, and he hissed against it.

Unbidden, the thought of Wyndam's blood suddenly flooded his mind. He tried to shake it off, but couldn't. The overwhelming feelings the blood provided were wildly swirling through him - fear, chaos, hope, denial, acceptance, pleasure, death - they were all rolled into Wyndam's blood. As though the exquisite power and excitement of each and every human Wyndam had killed were there, passing into Mitchell, filling him. He'd never felt this before, and it was consuming him. Mitchell groaned without knowing he did so. It was long minutes before the full force of the feelings abated, and Mitchell could try to think again.

_What the fuck is going on? _he thought momentarily, and then the piercing ache in his head started again, forcing him to again close his eyes. _Why the hell was he even trying to figure this out?_

He heard the key in the door, and opened his eyes, but did not look at them. It was time to feed.

ooooo

What Mitchell didn't think about, couldn't think about because of the almost constant feeding, was the full impact of drinking so much of Wyndam's blood. Unknown to Mitchell, his eyes were continually jet black. Any thought he may have had of escape was long gone. Any inkling of fighting Wyndam was banished at the first drop of Wyndam's blood. That little scratch of conscience, held open by thinking of Annie, was rapidly closing over, and it was becoming harder and harder to remember.

During one of those fleeting lucid times, Mitchell remembered once admitting that killing made him feel alive, and how he loved it. Now, after feeding from Wyndam, he knew how hollow those statements were. He thought he had killed. He thought he had enjoyed their blood, and the moment of the kill. He hadn't done anything. He, John Mitchell, Big Bad John, had no idea what it was to truly be vampire. Wyndam's blood was showing him, teaching him, enticing him. Until this, he had only been an echo, playing at being a vampire. Until this, there was nothing. Now, there was **only** this. And he was starting to love it.

He was still locked in the same room. However many hours or days or weeks later, he no longer cared. The pain in his stomach was returning, but he knew it to be hunger. He paid little attention to it, knowing Wyndam would be coming soon. Resting, he was basking in the last moments of the recent euphoria. The hunger grew, as did the pain, and Mitchell could feel the blood need taking hold, but he didn't panic. Wyndam would come, he was certain of it. He knew he would feed soon.

But Wyndam didn't come. The panic did start to set in.

_Where the hell are you, Wyndam? _Mitchell thought. Prowling the room, he stopped frequently to listen at the door. There were no footsteps in the hall.

"Samuel! Samuel, where are you?" he called, pounding on the door. No one answered him. He started to sweat, and his hands were shaking again. Raking his hands through his hair, his breathing erratic and ragged, he tried to fight the panic. He pounded on the door again, but still there was no response.

When the cramping pain began, it was much worse this time. Pain spread through his entire body, every muscle seeming to clench and spasm at the same time. Throbbing pain pounded in his head, and even the dim light hurt his eyes. As the pain increased, he cried out, every cell in his body wanting Wyndam's blood. The need was beyond anything he'd ever felt before. Falling to the floor, hands holding his aching head, he saw only red.

"Wyndam!" he cried out. The piercing pain in his head grew until he wanted to smash his head against the floor. But he didn't have the strength to do even that. All he could do was lay in misery on the cold floor, incoherent, body wracked with hunger and pain. He had no idea how long he was there.

He finally felt someone picking him up, lifting him from the floor. He tried to focus, but couldn't see the face clearly. All he saw was red. All he felt was pain.

"Please," he whispered, "help me."

"Yes, John, I'm going to help you." It was Wyndam. "But you have to help yourself. You have to decide how badly you want my blood."

"Yes," Mitchell whispered again, shaking his head, groping for Wyndam's wrist.

"No, over there, John," Wyndam whispered into his ear. "By the door. There is the blood you need. That is where you have to feed today." Mitchell shook his head again, not understanding.

"I don't…" he started, trying to focus on Wyndam's face. "Please…need to feed, your blood," he cried, the pain piercing through him.

"No, John, not yet. First, you have to feed from there, by the door. You know what you have to do, John. Now go do it," Wyndam told him. Again, he shook his head.

"John, listen to me. If you want more of my blood, you must first go to the girl and drink. Go on, I'll be right here," Wyndam coaxed.

Mitchell squinted toward the door, and saw her. She was pressed up against the wall, Samuel standing nearby, and she was crying. Mitchell could hear her heart pounding. Staggering from the chair, he started toward her. Something tried to tickle at his mind, something about not doing this. As he tried to focus on that something, pain rocketed throughout him, and he cried out, falling to the floor.

"John, you must drink from her," Wyndam said softly. "It is the only way to stop the pain, and have more of my blood. You do want that, don't you John?"

Mitchell didn't answer – he couldn't. He could hear the blood rushing through her veins, and stumbled to get up. The sound of her pounding heart became his beacon. His black eyes narrowed, and he hissed with fangs extended. Running the last few steps, he fell upon her, ripping at the soft skin of her neck, sinking his teeth into her. He didn't hear her screams.

Drinking her blood as fast as he could, as deep as he could, he tasted its sweetness and warmth, and it flowed over the pain in his stomach. He felt her heartbeat slow, her breath come in shallow gasps, and he didn't care. He wanted it all. Finally, he felt the last of her life flow past his lips, that exquisite jolt of power and pleasure as life left her, and he jerked away from her, letting her body fall to the floor. His chest was heaving as he stood staring down at her body.

_Why didn't she have more blood? _he wondered, wanting more.

The sound of clapping broke into his thoughts. Spinning around, he saw Wyndam slowly clapping his hands.

"Well done, John, well done. **Now** we are getting somewhere," Wyndam smiled at him. Mitchell's eyes returned to normal, and his breathing slowed. He looked again at the dead woman, her eyes open and unseeing. He had no more thoughts for her, and walked back to stand in front of Wyndam.

"You promised me more," Mitchell said, eyes snapping black again. Wyndam laughed, and rolled up his shirt sleeve.

oooooooooo


	8. Chapter 8

**You know...BH belongs to TW, errors all mine, disclaimer, disclaimer... **

**This one's been a bit like pulling molars, but sometimes, must just press on. Do hope you enjoy, and reviews are most welcome!**

* * *

><p>"He's living across the road! What are we going to do, George?" Nina asked, sitting back on the sofa. Lawrence Chambers had just left, and they were all still a bit stunned.<p>

"I don't know," George said, sitting next to her.

"Well, I know what we're NOT going to do!" Annie announced. "We are NOT going to do what that….that….that thing says!"

"So what, then?" Nina asked. "What do we do? How do we get away from them? How do we protect the baby?"

"I don't know, but I am not going to just sit here and do what they say! I can't!" Annie yelled.

"Calm down, both of you, please," George said, holding out his hands. "This does not get us anywhere." George sat next to Nina, Annie continued to pace.

"Ok, so, what do we know?" George asked. "I mean, really know, for a fact?"

"Well, we know they have Mitchell," Annie started

"No, we don't know that Annie," George reminded her. "Not for a fact. This Lawrence says they have him, but we don't know for sure. It's been 2 weeks. Mitchell may have gotten away and their watching us, waiting for him!"

"Do you really think so, George?" Nina asked.

"I don't know, Nina. Is it possible? Yeah it is."

"Yeah, and it's possible I might win The Apprentice, but really? If Mitchell got away, he'd find a way to let us know. And there is no way that Wyndam," her lips curled in disgust at saying his name, "would give Mitchell any chance to get away!"

"My point, Annie," George said slowly, "is that we still don't know anything. We're back where we were last week. Sooo, I think, we need to still get some real information."

"How?"

"Open to ideas! Only thing we have so far is for you to rent-a-ghost in and out listening to the vampires." George paused, considering something. "This new guy, Lawrence, seems to be higher up in the food chain, closer to Wyndam. Not just a lackey like the others. If he's living across the way, maybe we can turn things on him. We can watch him. Follow him. See what he can tell **us**!"

"If he was sent by Wyndam," Nina said, "then I'd think he'd have to talk to Wyndam, sometime, somehow. You know, reports, updates, get instructions, that sort of thing."

"If we can get him out of the house, Annie can rent-a-ghost in, and see what she can find. Maybe a telephone number, or email or something." George was thinking out loud. "He's got to have **something** we can use!"

"So, how do we get him out of his house?" Nina asked. "He said they'd always be watching us. And, George, you can't go anywhere now without at least 2 of them following you!" They were all quiet, considering this. George paced about the room, head down. Suddenly, he stopped, head snapping up, and he looked at Nina.

"George….what? I know that look, I don't like that look," she told him.

"We ask him," he told them, spreading his arms wide. "We just ask him. They still can't hurt us – orders from their boss. So, I go have a chat with Larry, and get him to come down to the pub, or something…" his voice trailed off, realizing how that sounded.

"Actually, that is not a bad idea, George!" Nina said thoughtfully. "But not you. Me. I'll go to him, tell him I want to talk to him, but make him come outside. We'll walk down the street, round the corner, something. Annie can go in and look around, and I'll just keep him distracted until she lets me know she's finished."

"No! Absolutely not! You are not going anywhere near that monster!" George shook his head, and waved his arms back and forth.

"George, think about it. This is a good idea," Annie said.

"Annie! The baby! No, no, no, no, no…this is not a good idea." George's voice was starting to squeak.

"George, listen," Nina said, putting a hand on his arm. "I can tell him I want to talk to him about the baby, keeping it safe, or try to talk them out of hurting us or about Mitchell…some bullshit like that, just to keep him talking. I'll cry, and get upset if I have to. I will keep him occupied! He can't hurt me, George!"

"But he can take you, Nina!"

"George," she said softly, "if he wanted to do that, I'd already be gone. We both know that."

"But…but...no, no…" he could not think of an argument to make, but kept shaking his head.

"And we'll do this so that you can be close by," Nina told him.

"The café! Round the corner," Annie said excitedly. "George, you can wait there, so it doesn't matter if the vamps follow you, and Nina can bring Larry round that way, and meet up with you. Its public, always people there, so they won't try anything."

"That's not bad, Annie," Nina told her.

"Not bad! It's brilliant! That will give me loads of time to get in, and snoop around!" Annie danced around the room, excited.

"I don't like this, Nina. No!" George said emphatically.

"Then want? What else can we do?" Nina asked patiently.

"I'll think of something! I need to sleep on this. I don't like it. At all." Ending the conversation, George left them and stomped up the stairs.

ooooooooo

The next morning, Nina and Annie were in the kitchen, discussing how Nina would distract Lawrence. Annie started making tea and toast when she heard George moving about upstairs. George finally came into the kitchen, and glared at them both, but took the tea from Annie.

"Well, any ideas?" Nina asked.

"No," George grumbled as he leaned against the counter.

'Ok, then, let's get this figured out," Annie said, handing George a toast with jam. "When should we do this? That's first, I think,"

"Ppffft, today?" Nina suggested, shrugging her shoulders.

"Uh - No! This needs to be planned!" George told her. "We need to do everything to protect you, make sure you are safe!"

"Ok, so how do we keep her safe?" Annie asked.

"We…we…we….I don't know! That's why it needs to be me, and not Nina!" George huffed.

George tried to find a big enough flaw in this idea to talk Nina out of it. Unfortunately, he couldn't find one. It was decided that in three days, when they both had a day off, Nina would try to get Lawrence out of his house. Sighing heavily, George sat down at the table, biting into the toast.

They spent the next three days on edge, watching the vampires watching them. Work helped to distract George and Nina. Annie worked on how quickly she could rent-a ghost from one place to another, especially when she'd never seen the place she was going. The only look she'd have would be into the doorway, when Lawrence opened the door for Nina. Annie hoped it would be enough.

oooooooooo

Nina took a deep breath. It was now or never. She stepped outside, and closed the door behind her. Despite the warmth of the sunshine, she pulled her sweater closer around her. Walking quickly across the street, or as quickly as her expanding belly would let her, she tried to stay calm. She knew George was nearby, waiting for her around the corner, and Annie was watching from the window in the attic.

With another deep breath, she knocked on the door. Lawrence Chambers opened it almost immediately. He smiled at her, but it wasn't pleasant.

"Hello, Nina. I've been expecting you," he said smoothly.

"Hel…what do you mean you were expecting me?"

"I think we both know you were coming to see me. Please, won't you come in?"

"Ahh, I don't think so. How about we just take a walk?" she answered, gesturing down the street. The vampire chuckled, but stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

"Shall we?" he asked, putting on sunglasses and sweeping his arm out in front of him.

"You said you were expecting me," Nina started. "Why?"

"Because you're the mother. You want to keep you child safe. You need to know what threatens it, so you can try to stop it."

"Ok, then why don't you tell me what threatens it?"

"It's hard to say, Nina. We don't know what your child will be." He smiled again.

"Why does that matter. It's a baby, just a baby. No matter what she or he is, it can't hurt you!"

"Lord Wyndam is curious," he shrugged.

"Tell him I'll send him a picture!" Nina said frustration in her voice. The vampire just laughed.

"Look, it's just a baby," Nina reasoned with him. "Even if it's a werewolf, it can't hurt you. So why can't you just leave us alone?"

"It's not my decision, Nina. Sorry, but he wants to know, and what Lord Wyndam wants….well, you know how that goes," he told her.

"But if we….I'm sorry, why do you call him that? Lord Wyndam? Is he like your master, or something? Head of all the vampires?" she said. waving her hands back and forth to exaggerate the question.

"No, not exactly," he chuckled. "I'm surprised the ghost hasn't figured it out by now, with all her research."

"What do you mean?" Nina tried to concentrate on buying time, and what he was saying, rather than think about walking down the street with someone who wanted her baby.

"Short version? He was a Lord, in his time, after he was made. He was the younger son of a noble, and while doing 'knightly things', he met…well, you can imagine what he met. Afterward, he went home. When his father and brother died, he inherited the title and estate. Eventual…politics changed that, and he no longer had either, but still prefers to use the title. These days, those of us who respect and honor such things, continue the tradition, especially when it is someone like Lord Wyndam." He smiled again, that smile.

"Did he kill them? His father and brother?" Nina asked, slightly breathless.

"I couldn't possibly comment on such a thing. You can ask him yourself, though, when you see him."

"What do you mean, when I see him?" Nina's heart skipped a beat.

"Oh, you'll be seeing him soon. And no, there is nothing you can do about it, so please do not try," he said, looking down at her. "You really don't want to put the baby or George in any more danger, do you?"

"What?" Nina stopped short. They had reached the corner, and she could see the outdoor tables of the cafe.

"Nina. Do you really think I don't know what all of you are doing, every minute of the day? It doesn't matter if Annie finds anything in my house, it won't help. And if George thinks he can protect you from his seat inside the café, he's greatly mistaken." He paused, letting his words sink in. Nina staggered a bit, and he put his hand under her elbow to steady her.

"Don't' touch me," she growled, jerking away from him.

"You really don't know who you are dealing with, Nina." Chambers leaned in, removing his sunglasses, and looked into Nina's eyes. "He is over 1000 years old, and has more power than you could ever imagine," he hissed at her, his voice cold and full of venom. "You are used to dealing with vampires like John Mitchell. Mitchell is a newborn, as weak, powerless and ineffective, as your unborn child. Compared to Lord Wyndam, Mitchell is still human."

"Now," he continued, briefly glancing at the bright sky. "I've conveyed your concern for Mitchell to Lord Wyndam. He asked me to tell you that he will provide you with proof that Mitchell is alive. In return, you will do nothing, but live your everyday lives. Remember, Nina," his voice was level and threatening, "we really don't need George. You're the important one. You, and….that," he said, pointing to her swollen belly. "I would hate for anything to happen to George." Replacing his sunglasses, the vampire turned and walked back up the street.

Nina sagged into a chair at the first outdoor table. Her heart was racing, and she couldn't catch her breath. Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she jumped. It was Annie, but Nina couldn't say anything.

"George! George!" Annie called into the café. "George, hurry up"

"Nina? Nina! What's wrong?" George had started pushing through the café when he saw Nina sink into the chair. "Nina! What?" Nina was waving a hand at George telling him she was ok, but she wanted something to drink. After a few gulps of water, she had calmed down enough to talk.

"We have to get away from them. We have to!" she told them.

"What did he say?" George asked through clenched teeth.

"They know everything. He knew you were in his house, Annie. And he knew you were waiting here, George. He says they know every minute what we're doing. How can that be? How…." She took another gulp of water.

"He said that Mitchell is a newborn, still human compared to Wyndam. That Wyndam has more power than we can imagine. George, they are going to kill us. They are going to take the baby and kill us!"

"He said that?" George whispered.

"He didn't have to! The way he said things!" She did not want him to know what Lawrence had said about George. Annie caught something, and looked at Nina suspiciously, but Nina looked away, rubbing her forehead. She had a pounding headache. "Everything he said had a threat behind it. He said that they won't leave us alone because they don't know what our baby will be. They're waiting to see what it is!"

"Come on, lets get home," George said, helping her up. "We'll talk about it there." None of them bothered to look at the two vampires following them.

oooooooooo

After settling Nina with a cup of tea, Annie told them that she found nothing in the vampires' house. it was very sparse, no computer, no house phone, nothing. They all agreed that his communication with Wyndam must be by mobile, and apparently, he had not left that in the house.

As Annie sat down on the sofa next to Nina, Nina's mobile rang.

"It's Tom" she told them. George took the phone, and went into the kitchen. Turning on the sink faucet, he leaned down close to the running water to talk into the mobile. Nina and Annie followed him into the kitchen, puzzled looks on their faces.

"Tom, are you ok?" George asked. "Oh, you're in Scotland? Good!" George yelled into the phone, hoping Tom would understand. "No! Really?...Are you sure?...No, no, no, don't bother…Um, I don't know…yeah, we both have **work** tomorrow….no, find **her** if you can. She might have some good information for you….ok…be careful, you never know…no, hopefully she can explain, when she sees you….ok." George handed the phone back to Nina.

"He's here." George silently mouthed the words to Nina and Annie.

"George, what are you…" Annie stopped when George made a chopping motion with his hand.

"Uh, yeah, that was him. He's going to be away for awhile," George said loudly while going through the drawers in the kitchen until he found a pen, and piece of paper.

_Don't say anything about Tom. Vamps listening_, he scribbled quickly. Nina and Annie nodded.

"He's in Scotland," George said out loud, making a rolling motion with his hand, "following up on some leads for his family. He'll be out of touch for a bit, and didn't want us to worry,"

"Oh! Oh, I hope he has luck finding them," Nina said, playing along. "I know he really wants to find family." George nodded, motioning for her to continue, while he wrote furiously on the paper.

"I think he said McNair told him his dad's family was up there," Nina continued. "He'd really like to find someone to connect to."

"Yes," Annie chimed in. "He'd love a family again. Who wants more tea?"

"That would be great, Annie," George said, handing the paper to them both. It detailed his conversation with Tom, and told them both to be careful what they said. He suspected the vampires were somehow listening in on them.

George went back to writing on the paper, and Annie made much noise putting the kettle on. Nina got out a box of biscuits, and made sure the wrapper crinkled to exaggeration.

_He'll find you tomorrow, Nina,"_ George had written. _Make arrangements for him to meet Annie somewhere. She can rent-a ghost to Tom, and we'll communicate through her. _

Annie gestured for the paper and pen. _Have him meet me inside the old movie theatre, where they show the classic films. At the showing just after dark. I'll let him in the entrance at the back,_ she wrote. Nina nodded her understanding, and took the paper and pen.

_Be careful! _ Nina wrote. Annie touched her index finger to her thumb, signaling ok.

"Well, I think it's been a bit of a long day. How about we watch some Real Hustle or Wipeout?" George said loudly.

"I'd love that, George," Nina said, heading through the swinging door into the lounge area.

"I'll bring the tea and biscuits," Annie called, but also brought a notepad and pens, so they could continue to talk silently.


	9. Chapter 9

**Once again, BH is TW's world, and he owns it. Just vacationing there, for a bit. **

**Still some teeth left, so hope you enjoy where this is going. Reviews, any and all, would be most appreciated.**

* * *

><p>"Too long, Edgar," Thomas said. "It's time to be done with this. He's not going to be what you want him to be."<p>

"He already is, Thomas," Wyndam replied softly. "Today was epic." They were again watching Mitchell through the viewing panel hidden in the wall mural. Mitchell was asleep in the chair, still in the blood-drunk from killing the woman, and the additional blood from Wyndam.

"No, Edgar, too long. If it hasn't taken yet, it's not going to. Even you have never had to spend this much time! If it were any of us but you, he would have been ended long ago. I don't know that he is worth it," Thomas said, shaking his head.

"He is," Wyndam told him. "Thomas, trust me. With John Mitchell at our disposal, this will be much quicker, and much easier. The last few decades must be dealt with, not to mention what his recent…associations have done to him. But, it was all necessary, to get him here. Do you think I would have let him continue playing with the dogs and the ghost if it didn't serve our purpose?"

"The others are very nervous about him. What he did to Herrick is unforgivable, an act deserving of death," Thomas reminded him. "His allowing the dog to do it the first time was violation enough, but this!"

"We both know we were going to end Herrick ourselves," Wyndam said, annoyance clear in his tone. "John just did it for us."

"But on his own! Can you control him? He has always been rogue. Even Herrick knew that, and tried to keep him on a tight leash."

"You were watching a few minutes ago, weren't you?" Wyndam was clearly annoyed. "You saw him. He felt it, in that moment of hesitation before he fell, he felt it. And then he killed her. He did what he had to, to survive. It is already done. The vampire in him will always win. He doesn't fully know that yet, but he will, very soon. He's already lost to it." Wyndam's smile was triumphant. "I have one, or perhaps two more sessions for him here, and then we'll send him with Samuel and Derek."

"The others want a meeting, to discuss this."

"Why?" Wyndam was insulted.

"Because they don't trust him, Wyndam, just like they don't trust the dogs! Because he was friends with the dogs. Because he went to Purgatory. Because he got so many to go clean. Because he killed Herrick. Because he can do what he can do! You name anything he's done, and that's why they want a meeting!" Thomas was angry, his Scottish temper flaring. "The meeting is set, tomorrow night, eight o'clock. For now, leave your pet locked up!"

oooooooooo

When Mitchell woke, he was alone again, and hungry. How could he be hungry again? Not only had he drunk the woman dry, he'd fed from Wyndam. It really wasn't important, he was just a bit curious. He spent no time thinking about the dead woman.

Samuel was nowhere to be seen, and Mitchell wondered if he was supposed to stay where he was. Trying the door, he found it was still locked. Stay here, then. He wanted to feed, but he'd just have to wait for Wyndam, or Samuel. There were clean clothes on the table, along with a towel and bowl of bloodied water. Feeling around his mouth, the blood was gone, or most of it. Apparently someone had cleaned him up while he slept. He briefly wondered who, hoping it wasn't Samuel.

Mitchell changed into the clean clothes, and had just returned to his seat when he heard the door lock turning. When the door opened, Wyndam came in, followed by Samuel dragging another human. Her heartbeat pounded in Mitchell's ears, and he anxiously licked his lips. He stood and started toward the girl, but stopped when Wyndam put up a hand.

"No, John. Sit down," Wyndam told him. Wyndam's shirt sleeves were already rolled up, and Mitchell assumed things would be as the last session. Kill the human, feed from Wyndam.

"What? I don't underst…." Mitchell's voice trailed off at the look on Wyndam's face. Slowly, Mitchell sat back down in the chair.

"We need to discuss a few things." Wyndam sat in the other chair, across from Mitchell.

"Oh," Mitchell said, forcing his eyes back to Wyndam, and away from the girl. _Her heartbeat is so loud!_

"This process we've been going through. Do you know why it's necessary?" Wyndam asked him. Mitchell shook his head. "Think about it, John. This has not been…pleasant, for either of us. Why is all this pain and discomfort necessary?"

"Ahh...because…Wyndam, can we talk about this after?" he could hear the girl starting to whimper in fear, and his senses flared.

"No, John, we can't. Ignore the hunger. Now, tell me, why do you think I'm doing this?"

"Because it's necessary," he answered absently. _God, her blood is rushing!_

"And why is it necessary? Focus, John. Why is this necessary?"

"Uhhh, because it's been so long. Because…." His voice trailed off.

"What's been so long, John?"

"Since I've fed, properly."

"And what else?"

"Since…I've been with my own kind."

"What else, John? Why else are we doing this?" Wyndam's tone was intense and demanding.

"Because I've…forgotten….pushed it away."

"Forgotten what?" Wyndam's gaze seared into Mitchell's eyes, wanting something.

"This…being vampire."

"What else?" Wyndam pushed. Mitchell didn't know what Wyndam was trying to get at, but knew Wyndam was losing his patience.

"Uhhh…" he couldn't seem to think, and kept glancing at the girl. _Why is she here if I can't feed from her?_

"John?"

"Because I've been…I don't know, Wyndam, just tell me what you want me to say! I'll say it!" He was very close to attacking the girl.

"Ahhh, John," Wyndam sighed, shaking his head. Wyndam stood up, and gestured to Samuel. Samuel pulled the girl toward the door. Mitchell jumped up quickly.

"Wyndam, wait! I don't understand! What…I killed the other one. I don't understand what you want!"

"Yes, you do, John," Wyndam told him quietly. Mitchell shook his head, looking from Wyndam to the girl and back to Wyndam again. "You do understand. You know it, now you have to admit it, to yourself, and to me."

"Admit what?" Mitchell was starting to sweat, and feel very uneasy. Wyndam didn't answer. Mitchell kept looking at the girl, the hunger starting to consume him. The familiar pain was beginning in his stomach, and he didn't like it.

"Well, we'll try again another time, shall we?" Wyndam finally said, and nodded to Samuel. Samuel took the girl from the room. Wyndam started to follow.

"Wyndam! Wait! I need to feed!"

"Then you had better figure it out, John." With that, Wyndam left, and the door was locked again.

oooooooooo

"Will he figure it out?" Samuel asked Wyndam, as they walked to Wyndam's office.

"Of course."

"It's just…." Samuel broke off.

"What, Samuel? You can say it," Wyndam told him.

"It is John Mitchell. He's not like…most of us. He's…Mitchell."

"Exactly," Wyndam smiled. "That is why it will be so complete. Don't worry, Samuel. John is fine. This may have taken longer than usual, but the hard part is over. When he asks for me, make him wait, longer than usual." Wyndam closed his office door, leaving Samuel in the hallway.

oooooooooo

"Figure what out?" Mitchell asked himself out loud. He paced around the room, rubbing his palms together to stop the shaking that was starting.

_What the hell is this about? _he asked himself_. Wyndam wants me back as a vampire. Here I am. I killed the girl. What the fuck am I missing? What does he want? _Mitchell balled his fists, trying to stop the shaking in his hands. _Why would he bring me back to feeding, have me kill again, and then not let me feed? It's insane! And what the hell am I supposed to figure out?_ The too familiar pain in his stomach sharpened, and he groaned out loud.

_Could this all just be a game to Wyndam, punishment for Herrick? Or the Box Tunnel thing?_ He considered this, but didn't think that was it. His head started to ache, and he rubbed his forehead.

_Where the hell are you when I need you, George? You'd figure this out, _he thought.

"Ahhh!" he cried out at the sudden stabbing pain in his head. It bent him over, taking his breath away. He made it to the chair, and sat down. _Oh, Jesus, not again! I can't go through that again!_ He tried to breathe evenly, rubbing his temples. It took several minutes, but the pain in his head started to fade. He really needed to feed, before it came back. This was worse than before, the pain cutting into his head, holding it in a vise.

_Why would Wyndam almost kill him, then make him kill to feed, and then not let him feed? Even Wyndam wouldn't do that to one of his own kind! Come on, think! Think! What more could he possibly want? What did he say? 'Admit it.' Admit what? _

Rubbing his temples, trying to ease the pain, Mitchell kept going over and over Wyndam's words. He had no idea what he was supposed to admit. The pain in his head continued, and his stomach was letting him know how much he needed to feed.

Raking his fingers through his hair, he couldn't remember having so much trouble figuring something out. Things usually came pretty easy to him. The last time something was this insane was in Purgatory, when he went to get Annie…

"Ahhhh!" The pain cut through him, and he threw his head back, hands grasping his hair. It felt like his head was being torn apart from the inside.

"Fuuuuck! Just give me someone to feed from!" he screamed to the room, hands clenching into fists, pushing against the sides of his head. Tears came to his eyes. _I just need to feed. The blood, the power, the life…the life…Wyndam's blood…all those lives…_

Suddenly, the pain eased to a dull ache, and he became very still. A thought was slowly winding its way through his mind. _Is that it?_ _Could it be that? _He considered it, turning it round in his mind, catching the strands of the thought, pulling them together, letting them coalesce. Wyndam's blood was the thing running through it all - the promise, the power, the life, the possibility in it – bringing it all together, solidifying it for him. Then the true depth of Wyndam's blood engulfed it, passed through it, and took hold. Mitchell sucked in his breath. _Could it really be that simple?_

It was there all this time. He'd known since that first drop of Wyndam's blood. He slowly exhaled and closed his eyes as understanding came.

After long moments, he stood up, smoothed his hair, and straightened his clothes. Going to the door, he knocked. The door was opened almost immediately by a vampire Mitchell didn't know.

"Would you please tell Wyndam that I'd like to see him," Mitchell said to him. Saying nothing to the other guards watching him warily, Mitchell returned to his chair. He did not sleep, but instead, let his mind float through this new understanding, content to wait.

It was quite some time before the door opened and Wyndam came in. Mitchell stood up when he saw Wyndam, the gesture not lost on Wyndam.

"John." Wyndam's voice was steady.

"Hello, Wyndam," Mitchell's voice was calm. The hunger was clawing at his insides, but he remained very calm, and controlled. Wyndam smiled.

Mitchell had already placed the other chair in front of his, and waited for Wyndam to sit down.

"So, you asked to see me?" Wyndam started, sitting down, crossing his legs.

"Yes. I understand now. I thought you'd like to know."

"What do you understand, John?" Wyndam was watching him closely.

"Why. Why you had to do this. Why I needed to go through it."

"And why is that, John?"

"I had to choose." Mitchell said it simply, but it was absolute truth.

"Choose what?"

"Being vampire or being human. Live or die. Being what I am, what we are." Mitchell looked down at his hands. "I was never given this choice before. I always believed Herrick forced me into a cursed life. And Herrick wanted me to believe that. He kept me on the edge of both worlds, using me for his own agenda. The more I struggled against this and tried to be human, the more he could manipulate me. The more he manipulated me, the greater his power. He never wanted me to be truly vampire. Because he never was, and never understood."

Mitchell glanced at Wyndam, gauging his response to all this. Wyndam smiled, nodding.

"Herrick made me vampire, but for the way **he** thought we should be, for his own purposes. Now, I see how narrow and limited his vision really was. You've shown me what can be, what should be. And now, you've given me a choice."

"Go on," Wyndam said softly, his eyes dark with intensity.

"To be truly vampire, something Herrick never knew. To be part of it. To fully embrace it, **for me. **Or to die." Mitchell returned Wyndam's gaze, unflinching under the intensity. "There is no in-between, no sometimes, no trying. There is no being human. I haven't been human since the day Herrick made me."

"And what do you choose, John?"

"This." Mitchell did not even blink. "You. I choose you."

The moment he said it, the pain evaporated, and that little forced-open-for-so-long scratch of conscience, closed.

oooooooooo


	10. Chapter 10

**Once again, BH and all its characters, etc., etc., belong to the brilliant Toby Whithouse. Thanks again for letting me play.**

**Reviews are good things! I look forward to any and all comments, and hope you enjoy!**

* * *

><p>"Well done, John," Wyndam's smile was genuine, and Mitchell smiled, relaxing.<p>

"So, now what?" Mitchell asked. "I'd like to get outta here," he said with a slight laugh. Wyndam did not laugh.

"I have to make some arrangements for you, so for now, just relax." Wyndam grinned at Mitchell's dismay. "Don't worry, John, it won't take long, and soon you'll be in much more comfortable surroundings." Wyndam stood to leave, Mitchell stood as well.

"In the meantime," Wyndam continued, "if you need anything, just ask for Samuel. He will bring you someone to feed from. I would ask, however, that you not kill this one. I have plans for her."

"Of course," Mitchell told him, nodding.

"Oh, and Samuel will bring you fresh clothes, and show you where you can clean up." Wyndam smiled again, and left, closing the door behind him. The lock did not fall into place. Even though he was no longer locked in, Mitchell sat down, waiting for Samuel, and tried not to think of the hunger.

A short time later, Samuel knocked on the door, and came into the room, pushing a woman in front of him. She was very pretty, with long blond hair and deep blue eyes, and her heart was racing.

Senses flaring, the hunger roared at his insides. Mitchell's eyes flashed black and he pulled the woman to him before Samuel had closed the door. Without speaking, Mitchell sank his teeth into her neck, allowing her no time to scream. He drank quickly, not thinking of the blood and its sweetness, but focusing on easing the demand in his stomach. As soon as he felt that relief, he jerked away from her, and handed her back to Samuel before she fainted.

oooooooooo

Wyndam entered the council chamber, and took his seat at the large round table. The room could almost have been a conference room in any office building, with the ornate round table, high-back leather chairs, and business phone in the center of the table. A credenza against one wall held a tea urn, and a coffee urn, cups with saucers and all necessary utensils and condiments, and a plate full of biscuits and lovely pastries. The room also had a large panoramic window that overlooked the city. The difference from most conference rooms was that this window was covered with dark wooden blinds and burgundy colored damask silk drapes, ensuring no sunlight entered the room. The other difference was that five vampires sat at the table. Five Old Ones.

As council meetings were for council members only, there was no one present other than these five members. Two other members were absent. Margaret was assisting with operations in America, and Hetty was still in South America, not wanting to be near John Mitchell at the moment.

"Good evening," Wyndam said, nodding to each.

"Edgar," Thomas answered, as the others nodded their greeting. Looking about the table, Thomas continued. "I've explained to Edgar why we requested this council. I've expressed our concerns regarding John Mitchell, and he has graciously offered to address them, and to answer our questions."

Wyndam smiled at Thomas' easy lie. Wyndam knew he'd been summoned, and he didn't like it. However, he would go along with the charade, and pretend to be subject to their review. Although he was the oldest and their superior in the hierarchy, they were all supposed to be equals here, Old Ones deserving of respect. He'd play along, until it no longer suited.

"Where shall we start?" Wyndam asked them.

"If I may," Raphael began, examining his manicured hands, trying to be nonchalant. Wyndam was not surprised, as the Frenchman always wanted to be the center of attention.

"Yes, Raphael?" Wyndam smiled patiently. "I assume you want to know about the dogs?"

"Yes. Before we discuss the current prob….John Mitchell," Raphael continued, looking directly at Wyndam, "have the dogs been destroyed, along with that abomination the female carries?"

"No, not yet," Wyndam answered tightly, speaking slowly, as though talking to children. "As I have already stated, several times, I want to see what comes of this. This has never happened in our history. The 'abomination', as you call it, is too important to destroy simply because we've never seen the like."

"But is that wise?" This time it was Robert, still wanting to gain standing among the rest of them. Again, of no surprise to Wyndam.

"Yes, it is, Robert," Wyndam answered, smiling again, "because I say it is. So there is no misunderstanding, there will be no change to my decision on this issue. The dogs will stay alive until we see what comes from them. Then we will decide what to do. If they can breed, and produce another werewolf, it will change everything. It will change how we fight this war, where we fight it, and who we keep alive. In the meantime, I have set measures in place, to ensure they do not pose a threat to us."

"I do not like it, no matter what 'measures' you put in place!" Raphael again.

"Please, what safety measures, Edgar?" Sofia asked softly, polite as always, her voice lilting with her slight Italian accent.

"I have sent Lawrence to watch them. He has taken ten of our best with him, and is utilizing the forces in Barry. He is reporting directly to me, daily. He has already made contact, and conveyed the proper….message. So far, they are behaving themselves." Wyndam waited for the next question.

"And when they don't?" Raphael pushed.

"Then I will act accordingly!" Wyndam was losing his patience.

"What about the ghost?" Robert asked.

"She will follow the lead of the dogs," Wyndam said with a tight smile. "She is insistent on finding John, but by the time we allow her to see him, it will be too late for her."

"And where are you with him?" Thomas was eager to get onto the more pressing subject.

"He is ours." Wyndam waited for the response he knew would come.

"I don't see how that is possible, Edgar." It came from Raphael, again. "How long have you been at this with him? How many weeks and you are not finished yet! It is time to be done with this foolishness and end him."

_So predictable,_ Wyndam thought to himself.

"It is finished." Wyndam was pleased to see Raphael flinch. "I know what I am doing, and who I am dealing with," Wyndam smiled. "You forget, Herrick brought John Mitchell to me shortly after he sired John. I've known John since he became vampire, and I know how his mind works," he answered easily.

"But such resistance, Edgar," Sofia reminded him "This process cannot guarantee control when there is such resistance. Herrick thought he controlled John Mitchell and died for it, at John Mitchell's hand."

"Yes, Sofia, John staked his maker. He had to. He could not have survived this process if Herrick were still alive." Wyndam waited for them to digest his words.

"John Mitchell," he continued, "is one of the strongest vampires to be made in last century. We all wish we were the one to find him." Wyndam saw two of them nod their heads in agreement. "Conveniently, John already has the old blood in him because Herrick was his sire."

"But he still has a conscience," Raphael said, shaking his head, "and lives by it! Look at what he has done just in the past few years, and what Herrick had to go through to try to manage him! Herrick was arrogant about many things, but not about John Mitchell. In almost one hundred years, Herrick still could not control him! What makes you think you can?"

"Do you dare compare me to Herrick?" Wyndam's voice was quiet, but the unspoken threat directed at Raphael was very loud. After several moments of uncomfortable silence, Raphael dropped his eyes. Wyndam looked around the table.

"Herrick," Wyndam said with disdain, "was obsessed when it came to John Mitchell. We all know that. But you do not understand me. Herrick's ego would not let John Mitchell be what he truly is. Yes, yes," he said, waving his hand dismissively, "I know all the tales of their exploits. But it was always Herrick who decided when, where, who, and how many. That leash that Herrick tied around John was what **kept** John from truly being vampire. It was there to satisfy Herrick's ego and limited vision, nothing more."

"But how can we trust him?" Robert asked, leaning in on the table. "That is the concern, Edgar. He has killed his own kind, more than once. He has tried to stop others from being vampire. He has befriended werewolves, and traveled to Purgatory - for a ghost! As I understand it, you found him just as he was to be staked by the dog, after **he** asked the dog to do it! His ability to stay dedicated to us is…minimal, if at all!" Robert looked about the table for support, and most agreed.

_So damn predictable, Robert,_ Wyndam thought again, _and still so vain._

"Through all of his attempts to go clean," Wyndam asked them, looking at each of them in turn, his patience now wearing thin, "how many times did John Mitchell completely leave vampires behind? Not once. He always ensured that he was near a community, where he could go when he'd had enough of humanity." Wyndam leaned back in his chair, straightening his jacket sleeves. "John Mitchell has great potential. He is already a soldier, and right now, he needs someone to report to, and to direct him. Herrick always kept John confused and conflicted, so he had no choice but to try to escape."

They still did not understand him. Wyndam sighed heavily.

"The soldier outgrew the commander," he told them, his voice sharp with annoyance. "Herrick was stuck in his own vision, his own plans. Plans that gave John Mitchell very little to do, other than be a…sidekick. There was no allowance for ambition or independent thought for John. So John wallowed in the guilt, escaping, until he could think of no other way out but to kill Herrick, and then die as well. In simple terms, Herrick let John Mitchell live in anguish. It was really quite cruel of Herrick." Wyndam paused, letting them consider his words.

"Allowing the dog to try to kill Herrick," Wyndam continued, "was just another way for John to persist in the guilt, a form of self-control, keeping him from being truly vampire. By killing Herrick himself, John has eliminated that guilt and restraint."

"And isn't it that lack of restraint that makes him dangerous to us?" Thomas asked.

"Just the opposite. He knows he needs us, and that this is where he belongs. He knows he cannot survive on his own. That is why he asked the dog for his own death."

"But he is still so resistant!" Raphael insisted.

"No longer," Wyndam smiled. "John now understands what he is, and why. Or, I should say, he understands to the point I want him to understand. It would have been disappointing if he had yielded any sooner. That strength is part of what makes him so valuable."

"But this was done against his will," Robert argued, "and in the past, such attempts have failed. Yes, he has at least survived it, but what will he do when he finally learns the true consequences of what you have done to him? How will you control him then?"

"You will remember," Wyndam's voice was quiet again, "**I have never failed in this.** When he learns of the consequences, it will not matter. It doesn't matter now. It is done. He is bound to me."

They were still not convinced.

"Tomorrow night, he will prove it," Wyndam told them. "Come and observe. You will see John Mitchell for the vampire he truly is." They all exchanged looks, and then nodded.

"Very well, Edgar," Raphael spoke for the others. "We will see what you have created in him. But know this, if he fails, he will be ended."

"He will not fail," Wyndam replied evenly, pushing back his chair, "Tomorrow night, eight o'clock again. Sofia," he said, dipping his head.

Wyndam left the Council to find Samuel, and give him specific instructions. Regardless of tomorrow's outcome, Wyndam would not let John Mitchell die, not yet.

oooooooooo


	11. Chapter 11

**Once again, TW owns the BH world. Errors are mine, all mine, I say!**** Reviews, as always, are welcome.**

**So what _would_ have happened if Edgar Wyndam had gotten his hands on Mitchell? Perhaps...  
><strong>

* * *

><p>After showering and changing clothes, Mitchell walked back down the short hallway to the same room. He felt good. Cleaned up, fresh jeans and shirt, he was feeling really good - no guilt, no anguish, just really good. <em>It's all good, Georgie.<em>

The door was open, and Samuel was inside overseeing a man that was cleaning the floor of the remaining blood. Mitchell could hear the man's heartbeat, and his senses flared, but he pushed down the desire to kill the man. The man quickly finished cleaning, and left the room, eyes down, not looking at Mitchell.

Samuel had also brought a full pot of coffee, and Mitchell helped himself. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed the coffee, until he downed one cup in a single gulp, and was pouring a second cup.

"So, when do I get out of here, Samuel?" he asked. Samuel just shrugged and started for the door.

"How about some cigarettes then?"

Samuel chuckled, but did not offer him one.

It was the chuckle. Before he even thought to do it, Mitchell had Samuel by the throat, and up against the wall. Eyes black, fangs out, he hissed at Samuel, lifting him until his feet were off the floor.

"I told you when I got out of that chair, I would rip your head off," Mitchell hissed at him. "I think now might be a good time." Samuel struggled, but Mitchell was too strong, Wyndam's blood having worked its way through him. Mitchell found it interesting that he could hold Samuel up off the floor by the throat, with one hand, and it was effortless.

_Am I really that strong? _he asked himself._ Could I just rip his head off with my other hand, without even really trying to? _ Mitchell was considering doing just that. _No, don't, _said a quiet voice in his mind.

Samuel was gesturing to his own suit jacket pocket. Looking down, Mitchell reached into the pocket and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. Reaching into the pocket again, he found the lighter. Laughing out loud, he dropped Samuel onto the floor. As he turned to return to his seat, Mitchell saw the two vampires standing behind him, ready to pull him from Samuel.

"Do you lads really wanna have a go?" he taunted them, laughing harder. They both backed away from him. Fishing a cigarette from the pack, he lit it, took a deep pull of smoke, and set the pack and lighter on the arm of the chair. Samuel did not ask for them back.

ooooooo

Sleep came for a bit, but soon, Mitchell was up, prowling the room, and wishing Wyndam would hurry up. The last blood euphoria had left him, he was hungry again, and he wanted out of this damn room! He considered just leaving, but decided against it. Wyndam had said soon, so he would trust that.

He stopped to look at the mural on the back wall. Someone had painted a forest, thick with trees and undergrowth, but it was dark, all black and gray. Remembering the red he saw earlier, he looked closer at that area. It was the image of young woman. She was dead, eyes open and splattered with blood, and there were puncture marks on her neck. Slowly looking up, he saw the vampire hidden among the trees. The vampire was white faced, eyes black, fangs dripping blood. He was dressed in clothes of a past age, ruffled collar and dark swirling cloak. Looking closer, Mitchell realized the vampire looked very much like Wyndam, and chuckled. Continuing to look at the scene, it seemed to Mitchell that something was off, something didn't quite fit with the rest of the picture. He stepped back from the wall to get a better overall view.

As he did so, someone knocked on the door, and opened it. Samuel came in, pulling a young woman by the arm, followed by another vampire dragging a young man. Mitchell didn't know the other vampire. The man and woman were both human, and terrified. The smell of their fear sent Mitchell's senses soaring, and he inhaled deeply, enjoying the sensation. The young man was thrown to the floor, and the unknown vampire loomed over him, keeping him there. The woman tried to run to him, but Samuel held on to her.

"Mitchell," Samuel started. "Lord Wyndam said to tell you he has been detained. He knows you're hungry and has sent these two. He has no preference as to whether they live or die." The girl screamed, but Samuel jerked her by the arm to silence her.

"What do you mean, detained? When do I get out of here?" Mitchell asked, ignoring both the man and woman.

"He said soon," Samuel answered. "But he doesn't want you to be hungry. Final arrangements are being made, and I'll be back shortly to move you to your new quarters." He pushed the woman toward the side of the room, and with a nod to Mitchell, left the room with the other vampire. The door locked behind them.

The young man jumped up and rushed to the woman, pushing her behind him. Mitchell smiled at the attempt, but didn't move.

"That won't help," he told the young man.

"What are you people?" the young man shouted. "What do you want? Dear God, just leave us alone! Just let us go, we won't say anything to anyone!"

The woman began to cry. Mitchell started toward them, but stopped when the man held out his hand.

"Wait, no. Just tell us what you want! Do you want money? What?"

Mitchell shook his head at the man.

"Please. At least let her go," the man bargained. "Please. You can do whatever you want to me, but please, let her go!"

Mitchell, silent, stared at the man. He could sense that the man was trying to figure out a way to attack Mitchell, so he just continued to stare at him. Soon, the man began to shake, realizing there was no escape.

"Please," he whispered, "just let us go."

_God, I hate it when the guy begs! _Mitchell thought with annoyance. _He should at least be a man in front of her!_

Anger and impatience flared in Mitchell, and his fangs were out before he reached the man. Yanking him away from the girl, his teeth ripped into the man's throat, drinking what blood he could while the rest spilled onto him, and the freshly cleaned floor. It was over in seconds. The man was dead before his body found the floor.

The woman screamed over and over, staring at the body. She finally covered her eyes with her hands. Mitchell did not approach her, staying very still, watching her. Eventually, her screams died off, and she peeked out from behind her hands, but started screaming again seeing Mitchell covered with blood. He still did not move, waiting. Finally, she realized Mitchell was not coming near her, and her screams subsided.

She started toward the man, but Mitchell took one step toward her and she stopped. Slowly shaking her head, she backed away from Mitchell, until she bumped into the wall. Pressing herself against the wall, she tried to shrink away from him, tears pouring down her cheeks. Her fear was palpable, and, licking his lips, Mitchell could taste it. He still did not move.

Mitchell waited a few minutes, watching her, considering what he wanted to do. His hunger somewhat abated, he didn't have to hurry with her.

Eventually, he went to the table and picked up the towel he'd brought from the shower. Turning his back to the woman, he wiped his mouth, cleaning it of as much blood as he could. His shirt was soaked with the man's blood, and after a moment's consideration, he took off the shirt and balled it up, throwing it to the floor. _Better not get her started again because of the blood._ Using the towel again, he cleaned most of the blood from his chest and hands.

To his disappointment, the woman did not move. As much as he liked fear in his victims, a bit of fight would be a welcome change. Sighing, he put the towel down.

Trying to look compassionate and regretful, he turned back to her. She was still sobbing, her shoulders shaking.

_If she didn't stop crying, this would be no fun_, Mitchell thought to himself. He was determined not to be annoyed with her. _Enjoy,_ whispered to him. He did want to enjoy himself. He very much wanted to enjoy himself, and he grinned at the thought. He quickly smoothed his grin into an apologetic look. _Wouldn't do to frighten her into screaming again._

Mitchell walked toward her, slowly. She held out a hand, trying to keep him away.

"No, no, shhh," he said softly. "Don't be afraid. I'm not gonna hurt you," he lied, exaggerating the Irish in his voice. Her eyes widened nicely as she heard him.

_What is it about this accent? _he wondered not for the first time. _So many of them react the same way! _Silently, he thanked whoever, or whatever, for being Irish.

She tried to say something, but he couldn't understand it through her sobs.

"What's your name?" he asked quietly.

"Aaa…A..man..da," she stuttered. "Wha…what... are …are you?" she whispered, terrified.

_She is pretty, in her own way, _he thought. She was in her early twenties, with brown curly hair that fell to her shoulders, and big brown eyes. He liked her eyes. They reminded him of …_Enjoy,_ whispered in his mind again. She wasn't really his type, but no matter. He did like her pink tee shirt with its glittered writing on the front, tucked into her fitted jeans. The clothes teased at what he knew would be a nice body underneath them. _This could be interesting,_ he thought.

"Hello, Amanda. I'm John," he told her, smiling gently. "Don't be afraid." He saw her eyes dart over to the dead man. "No! Amanda, look at me," he told her. "Look at me," he coaxed. She did.

"That's it. That's good, Amanda," he spoke as though talking to a child. "I am so sorry about him. I had to do that because of that other man. Do you understand?" She looked at him blankly.

"I'm a prisoner here, just like you," he explained, the lie coming easily. His years with Herrick had taught him well the art of quick thinking and lying.

"He told me I had to kill you both," Mitchell told her softly. "They watch me, to make sure I do what they say. If I hadn't killed him, they would have come right back in here, and we wouldn't have a chance to get away."

"W..w…whaaat?" she cried.

_Patience, Mitchell, patience,"_ he thought. He would not be annoyed. After all, she'd just seen him kill her friend.

"These people are bad people, Amanda. Really bad people," he said sadly, shaking his head. "We have to get away from them."

G..g..gget away?" she hiccupped.

"Yes, get away. We have to get out of here. Do you understand, Amanda?" He started to raise a hand, reaching out to her. She nodded slowly.

"Good," he said, moving closer to her. He glanced around the room, making a show of checking the door and the corners of the ceiling. "Now, we have to be very careful, and do this just right. Make them believe what we want them to believe, ok?" he whispered. She nodded again.

_God, this was too easy_, he thought. He took another step toward her.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, but I have to come closer to you, ok? So we can whisper, to figure this out," he said gently. She still held out a hand, to keep him away, but he saw her lower it slightly. She stepped to the side, hugging the wall, and into the corner. He tried not to smile.

"I'm coming over to you now, Amanda. And I'm gonna step in real close, ok, so we can figure out what to do," he told her. She nodded again. He stepped toward her, but something made her put up both hands to keep him away.

"Shhhh," he said to her, shaking his head, slowly reaching out one hand to cover both of hers. "Shhh, it's alright." Very slowly, he brought up his other hand, and held both her hands in his. "Shhh, it's ok, Amanda," he told her again. "It's ok to be scared, I'm scared, too. But we're gonna get out of this, I promise." She nodded again, letting him come closer.

_I forgot how gullible they are,_ he thought, trying again not to grin. _It doesn't even cross her mind that I didn't answer her question!_

"Please don't hurt me," she begged, crying softly again.

"No, Amanda," he shook his head. "I won't hurt you. We'll find a way outta here, I promise," he told her. Gently, he pulled her toward him, and slowly put his arms around her. "We have to fool them a bit, but we'll find a way to get out of this room, and get away from them," he whispered. "We just have to be very careful and quiet about it. Can you do that, Amanda? Can you be careful and quiet?" he whispered to her, carefully wrapping his arms around her. He felt her slight nod, and knew he had her.

He gently pulled her up against him, and pushed her head onto his shoulder. _She is so warm!_

"Shhhh," he told her again. The soft crying slowed, light tears falling onto his chest. "Shhh, it's ok. We're gonna be ok." He felt her stiffen and gasp, and realized she was looking at the dead man. She pushed against Mitchell, and he let her go. Lightly placing his hands on her arms, he bent down to look into her eyes.

"Amanda, no, look at me. Keep looking at me," he told her, peering into her eyes. Her eyes flickered back to him. "That's good. Look at me, look at my eyes. That's right, that's good," he said, gently rubbing his hands up and down her arms.

"Was he your boyfriend?" She shook her head, and looked down to her hands. A wedding ring.

"Your husband?" Mitchell asked. Tears welled in her eyes again.

"Oh, you're newlyweds!" he guessed. She nodded again. _Could this get any better? _

"I'm so sorry, Amanda, I'm so sorry." She lowered her head, resting her forehead against his chest, sobbing quietly again. Very slowly, he moved them both so his body blocked her view of her dead husband.

"Shhhh, it's ok, Amanda," he whispered to her. Gently, he pulled her into his arms again and pushed her head against his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Amanda. But you're gonna be ok. We're gonna get out of here. I promise," he told her softly. He stroked her hair in soft, soothing strokes, telling her over and over that she was going to be ok. He waited, patiently, until she started to relax into his arms.

He finally felt her shoulders relax, and her weight lean into him.

_I really should enjoy myself, _he thought, and felt desire flash through him. It had been too long since he'd really enjoyed himself. He debated for several moments, all the while stroking her hair and pulling her closer to him. Eventually, he decided against it. He'd be getting out of here soon, and he wanted out. Besides, he was still hungry. He'd wasted too much of the husband's blood.

"Shhhhhh," he said softly, moving her hair away from her neck, stroking her shoulders. "It's ok. You're gonna be fine. We'll get outta this," he promised her, and he felt her whole body relax into his, leaning against him, moving in closer for the comfort she so desperately wanted. _She is so warm! _ He could feel the pulse in her neck, and hear her blood flowing freely.

With a smile, he tightened his arms, holding her firm against him, while his eyes blackened. His fangs found that spot on her throat, and he slowly pierced her soft skin, feeling every layer of her flesh pass over his teeth. He heard her gasp, but it was too late for her. She didn't even struggle. Forcing himself to drink slowly, he closed his eyes and let her blood flow past his lips and into his mouth. Feeling it run down his throat, he savored the warm, sweet liquid, letting it wind through him, flooding his being, bringing relief. He soon became lost in it, squeezing her tighter against him, drinking deeper, pulling harder at the blood. Feeling this pull, she tried to struggle, her hands flailing aimlessly. _Enjoy,_ his mind told him, and he slowed his drinking until he felt her relax again. A small sigh escaped her lips, and he groaned.

He drained her carefully, feeling her heartbeat slow and weaken, and her body's every desperate attempt to keep her alive. As the blood flow faded, he knew he was coming to the end of her. Lessening even more his gentle pull of the blood, he extended her life a few more moments while he savored every drop. Her breathing slowed, and she made a final gasp as life left her, flowing into him.

Withdrawing his teeth from her neck, leaning his head back and blood dripping from his mouth, he reveled in the exquisite pleasure of her death. Unwilling to move, to disturb the euphoria, he stood there, eyes closed, head back, her dead body wrapped tightly in his arms. Finally, after several long moments, he licked the blood around his mouth, and let go of her. Her body crumbled to the floor.

Going back to his chair, he sat down, and rested his head on the back of the chair. Eyes closed once again, he spoke softly, knowing he would be heard.

"Samuel, I want out of this room, **now**." With a last lick around his mouth, he fell into a satisfied blood-drunk sleep.

ooooooo

Watching through the viewing panel, the council members did not speak. Wyndam remained silent, letting them absorb what they had just witnessed. He saw several of them lick their lips, and one or two had flashed black eyes, but he, of course, would not comment on either.

"Are there any more questions?" Wyndam finally asked with a smile.

"No…" Thomas cleared his throat. "No, I think you've made your point, Edgar."

"Actually, I have a question," Sophia said quietly, her voice barely a whisper.

"Yes, Sophia, he can. I told you, he has great potential," Wyndam said. Sophia looked startled that Wyndam would know her question. "He just doesn't know it. He thinks we all do this. It doesn't occur to him to even ask the question."

"That makes him dangerous to us, Edgar," Raphael warned. "If he learns what he can do…"

"It doesn't matter now, Raphael," Wyndam told him. "He is completely bound to me."

"Very well, Edgar," Raphael said. "However, if there is even a hint of rebellion, we want him ended!"

"There will be no rebellion," Wyndam answered patiently. "However, know this, all of you," his voice was quiet and unyielding. "I am the only one to decide if, and when, he is ended. Are we clear?"

No one answered him, but his point was made. The council members turned and left the room, all intent on finding a meal of their own. Gesturing to Samuel, Wyndam stayed behind.

"Clean him up," Wyndam, still angry, hissed to Samuel, "and bring him to my office. Don't tell him anything." Samuel nodded and went to collect Mitchell.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

**BH belongs to Toby Whithouse, et al. Thanks again for giving us these characters, and letting imaginations run a bit...**

**It is fun playing in this sandbox, trying to build something in the shifting sand. But what exactly is Edgar Wyndam building? And will it stand?**

**Reviews are always welcome, and encouraged! I hope you enjoy!**

It was time for Annie to meet Tom at the movie theatre. After rent-a-ghosting into a nearby alley, she walked around the corner toward the movie theatre entrance. Looking at the marquee, she bit her lip.

_A Laurel and Hardy marathon. Of course. The Powers That Be just love to make their point,_ she thought. Taking a deep breath, she continued toward the theatre, looking at the people waiting outside.

Suddenly she stopped, gasping, and quickly rent-a-ghosted back into the alley. Willie and the blond vampire, two of the vampires that watched the house and George and Nina, were standing out front!

"What the hell are they doing here?" she asked out loud, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Carefully, she peered around the building to have a look, and saw them still talking, not looking in her direction. Apparently they hadn't seen her. _What should I do?_ she asked herself, shaking her hands.

_Ok, just find Tom before they do! _She quickly, and quietly, ran around the back of the building, watching not only for the vampires, but also for Tom. Not seeing him, she ducked behind the bins, and waited. Finally hearing someone approaching, she chanced a peek.

"Tom!" she whispered. "Tom, over here!"

"Annie?" Tom said.

"Shhhhh! Vampires out front!" she whispered. Tom ducked down next to her, and in whispers, Annie quickly told him what had happened over the past 3 weeks, and the problems going on with the vampires.

Not wanting to stay there, Annie suggested they meet the next day at the cemetery, where there would be less chance of running into vampires. In the meantime, Tom would stay away from the house, and stay hidden. For the moment, he was safe, thanks to McNair's lesson on surviving and blending in. They also decided that Tom would not tell Annie where he was hiding.

Rent-a-ghosting back home, Annie wrote out on a notepad for George and Nina what had happened. George told them both that he hadn't seen Willie and the other vampire for a few days, but had seen other vampires watching the house, and he thought they were from Lawrence Chambers' house. He'd also seen several other vampires in the hospital, watching him.

Still not sure how Wyndam knew everything the three of them were doing, George insisted they not discuss their plans while in the house. Instead, they were still writing down anything important. They did make sure to have trivial and mundane conversations out loud, and to keep the television on, trying to give the impression they were doing things as usual. At the moment, they were trying to come up with ideas of what to do, now that Tom was back, and could help them.

"Nina, all I'm saying is that I think you should cut back on your shifts," George was saying out loud, the trivial conversation having taken a bit of a serious turn. "You need to rest, and with all the extra stress, you should just stay home." George was being serious, and Nina rolled her eyes at him, but played along.

"But, George," Nina said, "we still need the money. Besides, I'd go insane sitting here all day. No offense, Annie."

"No worries. But I have to agree with George. You should get more rest. Both of you. I hear you up at night, and I know neither of you are sleeping very well. I'm worried about you both!" Annie was also serious in her concern for her friends.

"Am I tired? Yes!" Nina admitted. "I'm tired because I'm pregnant, and I'm tired because of the vampires, and I just want it all…."

A knock at the door interrupted her. None of them were expecting anyone. Annie peered out the blinds, and gasped, quickly shutting the blind.

"It's Lawrence!" she whispered.

"Now what?" George clenched his jaw. "I'm really getting tired of this guy." Stomping to the door, he jerked it open and glared at the vampire.

"What do you want?"

"Hello, George. How's Nina?" Lawrence asked.

"None of your business." George told him evenly. The vampire just shrugged, and smiled.

"I repeat, what do you want?" George said.

"As I told Nina the other day, I conveyed your concerns regarding Mitchell to Lord Wyndam, and he has decided to give you proof that Mitchell is still alive," Lawrence answered, holding up a mobile phone.

"What is that?" George asked him.

"It's a mobile."

"Aren't you the brilliant one!" George said sarcastically.

"Lord Wyndam would like to speak with all of you," Lawrence told him. "If you'll let me in, I'll put it on speaker, and you can all hear what he has to say."

"Uh, let me think – NO! If Wyndam wants to speak to anyone, he can speak to me. I'll take the phone right here!" George told him.

"No," the vampire shook his head. "It has to be all three of you, or not at all."

"George," Annie interrupted. "Please, let's just hear what he has to say. If there's a chance it's about Mitchell…" her voice trailed off, worry showing on her face. George thought for a moment, then stepped back to allow the vampire in.

"Apparently, I don't need to invite you in, do I?" he groused. The vampire smiled again, and stepped inside.

"Hello Nina," Lawrence said, moving into the lounge. "How are you? Feeling better after the other day, I hope," he told her. Nina did not answer.

"Now then, let me just make this call," he said, holding the phone out in his hand. He put the phone on speaker, and dialed a number. It was picked up on the first ring.

"Yes, Lawrence." It was Wyndam, also on speaker phone.

"Hello, sir. I'm here now, and all three are with me," Lawrence told him.

"Good. Nina, how are you feeling? How's the baby?" Wyndam asked, making it clear what was important to him.

"What the hell do you want, Wyndam?" George demanded.

"Hello, George. Hello, Annie – how are you progressing with your powers?" Wyndam asked.

"This is ridiculous," George said loudly. "Get out, now," he said to Lawrence, pointing to the door.

"Ahhh, George, really? I thought you might like to talk to John, but if not…." Wyndam's voice trailed off.

"Wait!" Annie yelled. "What do you mean, talk to John?"

"He's here," Wyndam said. "You told Lawrence you didn't believe John was still alive. Speaking with him should take care of that, no? I'll allow him to speak with you, but in return, I expect you all to behave yourselves, and stop trying to fight me. Is that understood?"

"Go to hell!" George told him.

"Ahhh, that's too bad, George," Wyndam said. "Samuel, please return John to his cell," Wyndam said to someone else. Sounds of a struggle could be heard, and then Mitchell's voice came over the phone.

"Annie!" Mitchell yelled. "Ann.." he was cut off.

"Mitchell?" Annie yelled. "Wait! Mitchell is that you?"

"Wait, Samuel," Wyndam said. "So, George, what is it to be?"

"George, we have to!" Annie said, looking to Nina for support. Nina nodded.

"Fine," George said curtly. "Put Mitchell on the phone, and we'll see if it's really him."

"I will hold you to this, George," Wyndam said, "and you don't want to lie to me. Does he John?" The question was condescending and rhetorical.

"Mitchell, is that you?" Annie called.

"John, remember the rules," Wyndam warned.

"Annie? Yeah, it's me," Mitchell said. "Are you ok?"

"Yes! I'm…ok. What about you? Are you alright? Where are you?"

"I'm…ok…I think I'm…"

"John, what did I tell you?" Wyndam interrupted.

"I can't tell you where I am, Annie. Are all of you really ok?" Mitchell asked.

"Yes, we're fine. We're going to find you, Mitchell! I swear it!" Annie told him.

"No, Annie, don't! Don't do anything. George, are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here, Mitchell," George said. "Really, how are you?"

"Ah, ya know, been better," Mitchell said, his voice strained. "How about you?"

"Same. What's going on, Mitchell?"

"It's…complicated. I'm sorry things didn't go as I planned for you, George, and about Madelaine."

"Yeah, well, seems like Wyndam didn't care for your plans either, and took it out on her," George told him. "At least, that's what Larry here says." George looked at Lawrence with disgust.

"I thought she could help you to…" Mitchell started.

"John!" Wyndam interrupted, warning in his voice.

"No! Ok, ok," Mitchell said quickly, and George's stomach tightened as he heard the fear in Mitchell's voice. George had never heard Mitchell sound afraid before, and it was unnerving to hear it now.

"George, listen to me," Mitchell said. "I know this is hard, but you have to do what Wyndam says. You don't know who you are dealing with, or how powerful he is. Please, just do what he says. If you do what he says, Wyndam has given me his word that you'll all be ok," Mitchell said. They could all hear the urgency in his voice.

"Mitchell, you know I can't do that. He wants my child. I will NOT let that happen! And I would never accept his word that we will 'all be ok',"George said angrily.

"I know, George, I know. But Wyndam is different. If he says something, you can count on it. His word is very important to him, and he will keep it. Trust me on that. He made that clear to me when…"

"John, you are getting dangerously close to that line we talked about," Wyndam broke in again.

Even over the mobile, they could hear Mitchell clear his throat nervously.

"George, about the baby – I'm sure it's gonna be fine, and human, so nothing will come of this. Please, just be patient. I'm doing this to protect you, all of you. But you have to stop fighting Wyndam. Stop trying to get away from him! You've no idea the power he has, what he can do," Mitchell sounded desperate.

"No, Mitchell! I will **not** let him do this! No!" George was yelling now.

"George, you have to listen to me! Nina, stop him! If he doesn't stop, they're going to kill him!" Mitchell shouted.

"George, please!" It was Nina, grabbing at George's arm. "He's right! We have to stop this! Lawrence already told me, they will kill you. They don't need you. They only need me!"

"What? When did he...? You bastard!" George yelled, and would have launched himself at Lawrence if Nina hadn't been holding on to him.

"George, no! Please!" Nina screamed. Looking into her eyes, George did as she asked, and stayed where he was, shaking with anger. Taking several deep breaths, he finally calmed down enough to talk again.

"Mitchell, what you are asking…" he said.

"I know, George, but it has to be this way. At least for right now," Mitchell's voice cracked. "Trust me, once more, please."

"Mitchell, we can't just leave you there," Annie interrupted. "I won't!"

"You have to, Annie," Mitchell told her. "Really, it's ok. George, just do what he says. Like that night you and I met those guys outside the pub in Bristol, just do what Wyndam says and you'll all be fine. I'm so….."

"JOHN!" Wyndam snarled. "I warned you! Get him out of here! I will deal with him later."

"No, Wyndam, don't!" Mitchell yelled. "Annie! Ann…" Mitchell was cut off. There were sounds of a struggle, Mitchell yelled again, and then a door slammed shut. It was silent on the other end of the phone.

"Mitchell!" Annie screamed. He didn't answer.

"That was so unnecessary," Wyndam said quietly. "Now, listen carefully, all of you. I am finished being generous, and trying to accommodate you. This is very simple. You will stop trying to plan an escape. You will not attempt to get away from me. You will not attempt to find John. You will not attack any of my men. You will not hide from my men. Do anything to further anger me, and my generosity will end. George will no longer be useful, and will die. Annie will be destroyed, left to float away in a swirl of smoke. Nina will stay with me until the baby is born, and then she will die." Wyndam's voice was cold and hard.

George growled and started toward the phone, but Lawrence shook his head, warning him off. Nina grabbed George with both hands, and he stopped, anger barely held in check.

"I swear, Wyndam, if you hurt them, I **will** find a way to kill you," George threatened.

"George, we both know that will never happen," Wyndam said, and George could hear the smile on Wyndam's face. "The question for you, George, is this - are willing to lose everything? And I mean everything - Nina, the baby, Annie. And John," Wyndam said quietly.

"What does that mean?" Annie yelled. "If you…"

"If I what, Annie?" Wyndam interrupted. "There is nothing any of you can do to stop me, or to help John. George, if you believe nothing else I say, believe this - John will pay the price for **your** actions, starting today. And there are **many, many** things worse than death for a vampire."

Annie swallowed, tears in her eyes.

"Am. I. Clear." It was not a question. Wyndam emphasized each word, making it known his threat was not an idle one.

George did not answer, his jaw clenched, hands curled into fists at his sides. It was only Nina holding onto him that prevented him from attacking Lawrence. Annie slowly nodded at Lawrence.

"I believe they understand, sir," Lawrence said to Wyndam.

"Good." The line went dead. Without another word, Lawrence left the house.

oooooooooo

"Aacchh! Wolves! Such difficult creatures!" Wyndam said, getting up from his desk and walking to the liquor cabinet along the left wall. He poured brandy into two snifters, and gave one to his guest.

"I think that went rather well, don't you?" Wyndam said, smiling, raising his glass.

"Yes, it did. Cheers!" Mitchell answered, laughing. He drank the brandy in one gulp.

oooooooooo


	13. Chapter 13

**Once again, thanks to Toby Whithouse for creating BH and the amazing characters in it. BH is his. Any errors are mine. **

**Hope you enjoy, and if so inclined, reviews are most welcome!**

* * *

><p>"I expect you have some questions, John," Wyndam said, refilling Mitchell's glass. "Please, ask."<p>

"Ok, yeah, thanks. Where the hel…" Mitchell stopped at seeing Wyndam's raised eyebrows. "Ah, where am I?" Mitchell asked.

"Bristol."

"Really? I thought…never mind."

"You thought what?" Wyndam said.

"I thought it might be Manchester. The newspaper."

"No, that's just Samuel. He likes to read hometown news."

"Oh," Mitchell smiled.

"Next?" Wyndam prompted.

"How long have I been here?"

"A month, give or take."

'A month!" Mitchell could not stop the surprise on his face. "Wow, doesn't feel like that long."

"Yes, that happens. And you were a bit…difficult, weren't you?" Wyndam returned to his chair behind the desk. Mitchell gave a shaky smile, and remained silent. Wyndam's smile didn't reach his eyes, but he motioned for Mitchell to continue.

"I've got a mark…" Mitchell said, pointing to the crook of his left elbow. "I was bitten. It's not completely healed."

"Yes. Don't worry about it. It will heal, soon. The scar will remain, but it won't cause you any trouble."

"But who…" Mitchell didn't finish the sentence.

"It's part of the process, John. As I said, don't worry about it." Wyndam took another drink of his brandy, dismissing Mitchell's question. "What else?"

"Samuel. I, ah, nearly killed him a bit ago. He kind of annoyed me, before…"

"Yes," Wyndam chuckled. "That was amusing. However, Samuel is necessary - think of him as one of my assistants. He will also be helping you as you adjust here, so I think it best you listened to me and didn't kill him."

"Listened to you?"

"Yes."

"I don't understand," Mitchell said, puzzled by Wyndam's comment.

"The day you arrived here, John, I told you what was going to happen. This should not be confusing." Wyndam said, his voice once again cold. Mitchell was suddenly nervous, not sure what he'd said to so quickly annoy Wyndam.

"I still don't…"Mitchell started, not sure what to say next.

"Don't concern yourself, John." Wyndam was smiling again and his tone was no longer sharp. "I know things are a bit unsettled for you right now, but it will all sort itself. We'll give it some time. Trust me that everything is as it should be."

Mitchell was still confused, but nodded.

"What else, John? You must have more questions."

"Ah," Mitchell started, clearing his throat, trying to gather his thoughts. "So, where am I going?"

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Richard said you wanted me in South America."

"That was before things changed. You will stay here, for now. You will take care of certain problems as they arise."

"Oh," the relief was evident on Mitchell's face. "What problems?"

"We'll get to that. Next question?"

"Ah, what about feeding?"

"There are some new rules. For you," Wyndam said, smiling again. "Samuel, and others, will help you with that." Mitchell nodded.

"Will it always feel….different?" Mitchell asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Since…," Mitchell gestured to Wyndam, not sure how to say this.

"Since you fed from me?" Wyndam filled in for him.

"Yes," Mitchell said, clearing his throat. "The human blood I've had since then is….different. It feels different. Is it supposed to be?"

"Different how?" Wyndam asked him.

"It's more…intense, more…their…" he couldn't put it into words.

"Their life? It feeds you, not the blood?"

"Yes! The blood is great, and I still want it, but their life - it's like it's in every part of me, it stays with me. Before, it would fade away. Now, there's a power to it, and the more I feed, the more powerful it gets. It wasn't like this before."

"Do you like it?" Wyndam asked.

"Yeah, I do." Mitchell grinned, nodding.

"Then that's what matters, isn't it?"

"But I also see others," Mitchell continued. "Other humans I've never met. It's like their life is there, too, and they're all adding to each other, and…," Mitchell frowned, struggling to put into words what he experienced recently.

"It's a bit overwhelming, isn't it?" Wyndam asked. Mitchell nodded. "It will all eventually settle. For now, don't try to understand it, just enjoy it," Wyndam told him, eyes searching Mitchell for something. Mitchell paused a moment, then nodded.

"Ok," he said, smiling. "So what's next?"

"That's all?" Wyndam asked. "No other specific questions?" Mitchell shook his head.

"What about the wolves, and Annie? Do you want to know about them?" Wyndam watched Mitchell carefully.

"No. I figured you wouldn't want me near them again," Mitchell answered.

"I really do see why Herrick liked you." Wyndam laughed out loud. "You tend to surprise. Alright, we'll discuss them another time." Mitchell nodded again.

"There is one more question, though, isn't there?" Wyndam said, not really asking a question.

Mitchell was silent, and looked down at his drink. He needed to ask, but wasn't sure how.

"John, we need to discuss him at some point," Wyndam said quietly. Mitchell looked up sharply, wondering how Wyndam knew he was thinking about Herrick. Something, though, told Mitchell not to ask that question.

"Herrick," Mitchell said instead. Wyndam nodded for him to continue. "I killed him. I mean proper killed. I staked him," Mitchell finished, his voice breaking, but he held Wyndam's gaze. He didn't breathe, and waited for the consequences he knew had to come. It was not permitted to kill your maker, ever.

"Yes, I know." Wyndam was not smiling. "What do you think about it now?"

"Aahh," Mitchell again wasn't sure what to say, and looked down at his drink. "I don't know why I'm still here. I know the punishment for killing your own maker."

"Yes, I'm sure you do," Wyndam said. "But tell me why you did it."

Mitchell didn't answer right away, and continued to study his drink. Finally, he took a deep breath.

"I think it was inevitable," he told Wyndam. "Herrick wanted a mirror image of himself, and I couldn't be that. One of us was always going to kill the other, we both knew it," Mitchell paused, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

"I just didn't think I'd be doing the killing," he finally said. Grief and pain in his eyes, he looked up at Wyndam.

"Yes, I can see that," Wyndam said, his ice blue eyes unblinking, holding Mitchell's gaze. "You feel remorse, and grief." It wasn't a question.

Mitchell nodded, not trusting his voice. He did grieve Herrick's death, and that he caused it. Herrick had been many things, some of them despicable, but he had brought Mitchell into this life, and there had been so many incredible and amazing things in it. The memories surfaced, and Mitchell tried to look away from Wyndam, not wanting Wyndam to see his tears.

But Wyndam's eyes continued to hold Mitchell's, and Mitchell found he couldn't look away. The intensity from Wyndam was compelling, and a shiver of fear ran through Mitchell, but still he could not look away.

It may have been the brandy, but it seemed to Mitchell that Wyndam's eyes changed, from their usual ice blue, to a dark blue, and then to something Mitchell didn't recognize. Suddenly, Mitchell felt lightheaded, and not altogether here, as though he'd been pushed aside, and was watching himself and Wyndam from a distance. He couldn't move, or blink, and seemed to have no control of his own mind or body. He felt a light whisper brush through his mind, and knew it was Wyndam, inside his mind, searching his memories. He tried to block Wyndam, to push back against the searching, but his effort was quickly brushed aside.

He felt Wyndam sift through his memories, back to the day Herrick recruited him. Then, as if in a film on extreme fast forward, the memories of Herrick flashed through Mitchell's mind, all of them exposed for Wyndam to see. Finally, the fast forward stopped, and Mitchell saw again that last moment, when he staked Herrick. That image remained fixed in his mind, and the emotions it wrought flooded over him – pain, anguish, guilt, and grief. He tried to break away from the image, but couldn't, and the longer the image was before him, the more the emotions tore through him again, fresh and raw. Tears ran down his face, but he still could not break away from Wyndam's compelling stare.

Moments later, he saw Wyndam get up from behind the desk, and walked toward him, and all the while that image of Herrick remained fixed in his mind. Mitchell tried to speak, to move, to force himself to break Wyndam's intense gaze, but still could not. He saw Wyndam lean in and realized Wyndam's eyes had flashed brown, not black, but the ice blue remained in their center. The image of Herrick, staked, now became vivid and lifelike in Mitchell's mind, as though it were happening again, and it was all he could see. The pain of that moment was excruciating, and he tried to cry out but was unable to make any sound.

Then he heard Wyndam's voice, whispering. He didn't understand Wyndam's words, but slowly, he felt the pain and anguish melt away. His grief receded, and his tears finally stopped. He felt calm.

_Close your eyes,_ he heard, and having no choice, did so. The image of Herrick faded away.

"John," Wyndam's voice broke into his mind. With a start, Mitchell opened his eyes, to see Wyndam sitting behind the desk, sipping brandy, watching him. His mind felt a bit foggy, like he'd had one too many drinks.

_What was I saying?_ Mitchell thought to himself. Wyndam's ice blue eyes still stared into him, and Mitchell still could not look away, but he no longer felt fear.

_Herrick, I was telling him I killed Herrick, _he remembered, and realized he no longer felt afraid saying it. The raw grief was gone. He felt at peace with what he had done, knowing it had to happen.

"It's alright, John," Wyndam said, still holding Mitchell's gaze. "You should be feeling better." Mitchell nodded, he did feel better.

Finally, seeming satisfied, Wyndam gave a curt nod, and blinked, looking away from Mitchell. Mitchell felt as though he'd been released from something, and he exhaled slowly.

"Herrick's death was unfortunate," Wyndam told him. "However, I understand that you were under the influence of…..others, and desperate to find some type of resolution to the chaos. I will let it pass - this time." Mitchell was surprised, and took a quick breath.

"But, John," Wyndam leaned forward, his eyes intense again. "Such will not be tolerated again. Under any circumstances."

"I understa…," Mitchell started, and then froze. _I am your maker,_ whispered in his mind. "What?" he asked, thinking Wyndam had spoken. _I am your maker,_ repeated again, but Wyndam had not spoken. He saw Wyndam smile.

Mitchell sucked in his breath as this registered through the fog in his mind. He remembered bits and pieces of the 'process', as Wyndam called it, and what had happened to him through it. He looked down at his arm, rubbing the bite mark that remained, and knew. He knew that he had almost died, again. And that it was Wyndam's blood that saved him, that brought him back. That Wyndam had remade him.

Wyndam was now his maker.

"Yes, now you begin to understand," Wyndam told him, again knowing what he was thinking. "This is very different than Herrick being your maker, and you have much to learn." Wyndam again leaned forward on the desk. "My rules are very different, John, don't ever forget that," he warned, his tone harsh.

Mitchell swallowed, and nodded again, but didn't think he should ask what that meant. Wyndam continued to watch him a moment longer, then sat back in his chair.

"Good. You are already starting to learn," Wyndam said, dismissing any further discussion of the matter.

"Now, what's next for you." Wyndam sat up in his chair, all business. "I need you to take care of someone."

Mitchell just nodded, still in shock and trying to wrap his head around what he'd just learned.

"John, pay attention. A reporter is digging too much," Wyndam said, reaching into one of the desk drawers, and pulling out a file. "She's getting too close, too soon. Her boss, who is one of us, has indicated that she will not be deterred. I can't have that. I need her taken care of. You will do that."

"Ah, ok," Mitchell said, taking a deep breath. "Where?"

"She's here, in Bristol. Samuel will bring you the file, and assist you in taking care of her. You may be a bit hungry soon, so this should help."

Suddenly, Mitchell was hungry, and the thought of feeding was very appealing. He pushed aside his shock, and focused on what Wyndam was telling him.

"That's better," Wyndam told him, smiling. Mitchell didn't have to ask what Wyndam meant.

"Do you want her scared, recruited, or killed?" Mitchell asked instead.

"Killed."

"When?"

oooooooooo


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

**As always, BH belongs to TW. **

**I hope you enjoy, and as always, any and all reviews are welcome!**

* * *

><p>After the meeting with Wyndam, Mitchell returned to the room he'd been told was his. Knowing he wasn't going to deal with the reporter until the next night, he fell into bed, beyond knackered. He didn't have the energy to think about Wyndam being his maker, and what it all meant, and instead, slept into the next evening.<p>

Samuel had called this room Mitchell's new quarters, but it was actually a suite. Samuel said it was a small hotel, and Wyndam owned it, using it for himself and other vampires, but Mitchell didn't listen to much more. The room had all the amenities, though - proper king size bed, telly, small refrigerator, desk, adjoining area with comfy chairs, sofa, and a view from three floors up. Even the closet had been stocked for Mitchell. He still didn't know exactly where this place was located, as he had yet to be outside, and the little he'd seen from the window didn't look familiar.

He briefly wondered why he'd never known about this place, but assumed it was another of the secrets Herrick kept from him. Herrick. He could now think of Herrick without feeling the grief and guilt, and it felt good. He didn't know how Wyndam had removed that grief, but he was grateful it was gone.

Refreshed from the sleep, Mitchell showered and dressed, ignoring the suits and ties in the closet. Instead, he opted for the black jeans, black button down shirt, and the new boots, all in his size. There was even a leather jacket for him. It felt good to be properly dressed again. He stuffed the pack of cigarettes and lighter in the jacket pocket, and ate some of the food he found in the fridge. He was feeling hungry, though, and would have to ask Samuel about the new rules on feeding.

Shortly thereafter, someone knocked on Mitchell's door. Opening the door, Mitchell let Samuel in and was closing the door when a hand pushed it open again. Swinging the door wide, a second man came into the room, his face familiar to Mitchell.

"Hello, Mitchell," the man said in a deep voice, his Irish brogue very strong.

"Padraig?" Mitchell exclaimed, and the two hugged. "My God, Padraig! What the hell are you doing here?"

"I heard John Mitchell was back, and I had to come see for myself!"

"Jesus, you look great! How long have you been here?"

"Thanks! Got in a few days ago."

"How long has it been?" Mitchell asked, trying to remember.

"Way too long, Mitchell. You took your time comin' round, I hear!" Padraig teased, his deep blue eyes filled with laughter. The same height as Mitchell, it was odd to think of them as countrymen. Padraig's fair complexion, dark hair, and blue eyes were quite in contrast to Mitchell.

"Yeah," Mitchell laughed. "You know me, always…"

"The hard way!" Padraig finished with a laugh. "Yeah, I know! But, welcome back! That's the important thing!"

"Thanks, mate! What have you been up to? Hey, we need to go out, like the old days!" Mitchell said, eyes bright at the prospect. Padraig nodded enthusiastically.

"Not yet, gentlemen," Samuel interrupted, motioning them over to the desk.

"My keeper," Mitchell whispered, and Padraig smiled sympathetically, and shrugged.

"It was the same for me," he whispered back. "But it's not for long," he said, winking, and moving toward to the desk.

"Really?" Mitchell said, surprised. "Wyndam?"

"No, Thomas."

"The Scot? When?" Mitchell asked, frowning.

"Yeah, he thought it amusing! Early eighties. I'll tell you about it later," Padraig said, nodding toward Samuel.

"In your own time," Samuel said to them impatiently. Padraig rolled his eyes at Mitchell, and they both chuckled.

"This is the problem," Samuel started, showing them a picture of a young woman with short brown hair and brown eyes, her skin a light coffee color. She was pretty. Samuel then proceeded to tell them where they were going, and how this was to be done. Padraig looked at Mitchell and sighed. Mitchell laughed, and nodded.

"Samuel, why don't you just take us to where she is, and Páidí and I will take care of it, ok?" Mitchell said patronizingly.

"Paddy?" Samuel questioned with a laugh.

"No," Padraig told him sharply. "Only Mitchell gets to call me that. You can call me Molloy, or Padraig."

Samuel looked indignant, but shrugged, and had the sense to stay quiet. Handing the folder to Padraig, he gestured to the door.

As they walked down the hall, Mitchell and Padraig looked over the file, and talked about how to get to the woman. The file said the car park she used for her car was the best place, especially as she worked late most nights. The car park was a few blocks from the news agency and was nearly empty by the time she left work.

Once in the car park, Samuel pulled into a spot near the woman's car and waited for her. Padraig slid into the nearby shadows, and Mitchell was on the far side of the park, leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette. It reminded Mitchell of the night he and George chased Ivan and Daisy in a similar car park. He smiled at how that felt like several lifetimes ago.

There was very little security. No guards, poor lighting, and the closed circuit cameras wouldn't matter.

_There is no security,_ Mitchell thought with certainty, and somehow knew that Wyndam had taken care of any security concerns. Mitchell wasn't sure how he knew this, but he knew it to be true. He didn't question it. It simply meant they would not be disturbed, and it added to his anticipation.

They had to wait, but eventually, the reporter exited the elevator. As usual, she had worked quite late, and there were few cars left in the park. She had parked in a corner spot, several rows from the elevator, and at the moment, the only car near hers was Samuel's.

While Mitchell watched from the shadows, the woman walked toward her car, dressed in a gray and white pantsuit. Samuel, dressed in his business suit and tie, walked toward her, pretending to text on his mobile. He seemingly bumped into her without seeing her. Apologizing profusely, he grabbed her arm to steady her, and in the process, pulled her briefcase from her hand. As it fell to the ground, he tried to catch it, but succeeded only in spilling most of its contents onto the ground. Mitchell laughed at the cliché of it all, wondering if the woman would see through it.

"I'm so sorry! Are you ok?" Samuel exclaimed, kneeling down to pick everything up. "I can be so clumsy!"

"No, that's alright. I've got it," the woman said, stooping to collect her papers.

"This texting thing can be dangerous even if you're not driving!" Samuel laughed, smiling broadly at her.

"Yes," she laughed, "it can be!"

They finished collecting her papers and putting them back in the briefcase. As they stood up, Padraig quietly moved in behind her and grabbed her, covering her mouth with his hand. She tried to fight, but was no match for his strength, and he quickly dragged her into the shadows against the park wall. Samuel made sure her purse and briefcase were in hand before he followed Padraig.

Watching it all, Mitchell pushed away from the wall and stubbed out the remainder of his cigarette. He could hear her pounding heartbeat and smell her fear, and it made his mouth water. He was hungry.

As he approached them, Mitchell saw that Samuel had tied the woman's hands behind her back, and still had a hand over her mouth. He saw her nod, and Samuel removed his hand, warning her not to scream. Instead of screaming, she was trying to talk her way out of the situation. Her eyes were wide, but she wasn't crying. She was trying to tell them to just take her money, and her car, and she wouldn't call the police. Samuel and Padraig stood on either side of her, Padraig leaning against the wall, and neither of them answered her.

As he walked closer to them, Mitchell noticed that the woman's hair had grown as compared to the photo, and it fell in soft curls to her shoulders. She looked a bit like Annie. Even her laugh had been full and sweet like Annie's. A sudden jab of pain filled him, and he stopped for a moment, shaking his head. Just as suddenly, it was gone.

When she saw him walking toward her, she stopped talking and took a quick breath.

_Good, you should be afraid,_ he thought, taking in her heartbeat and the rush of adrenaline flowing through her. Despite the two men looming over her, she tried to appear calm. No tears, no babbling, just watching as Mitchell approached her. He wanted her to be afraid. Slowing his pace, he lowered his head, his look menacing.

_There you are, _he thought, hearing her heart race. He tried not to grin.

"What do you want?" she finally asked, breathless. He didn't answer, just kept slowly walking toward her. He did not stop until he was close enough to look down into her eyes. He was rewarded with her involuntary step backward, her back now against the wall.

"Just to have a talk," he told her, grinning now. She tried to hold his gaze, but glanced away after a few moments.

"Abou…about what?" she stumbled over the words.

"You've been sticking your nose into somewhere it doesn't belong," he told her quietly, shaking his head. "That's a veeery bad thing."

"I don't know what…" her voice trailed off, and she flinched as Mitchell reached to smooth a strand of her hair. It really did remind him of Annie's hair.

"Yes, you do," Mitchell told her absently, picking up one of her curls, rubbing it between his fingers, feeling it's softness.

"Okay, okay…whatever it is, I'll stop," she bargained. "I'll…I'll destroy my notes…delete everything. Please, just let me go." He didn't answer her.

"Your boss already told you to do that, but unfortunately, for you, you didn't listen," he told her softly.

"Seriously, it's gone," she continued. "You're right, my boss told me…so it's over…story is dead…it's done…right now…" her voice trailed off. "Please don't hurt me," she whispered.

Mitchell shrugged, still looking at her hair. He was starting to admire her courage, and moved in closer to her. He heard her sharp intake of breath, and looking into her eyes, he saw her fear. Her eyes were pretty, the softest brown, and a beautiful shape, like Annie's. Looking at her face, he saw where her dimple would be in a smile, and wanted to see it. His fingers moved from her hair to trace the curve of the dimple. His other hand came up and cupped her face, and he took in every part of her face. She was so like Annie! Annie had sounded so upset yesterday, he could imagine the tears in her eyes. This one now had tears in her eyes, too, and didn't move, barely took a breath, just stared at him. He held her face in both hands, and looked at her mouth, the beautiful lips full and inviting…like Annie's. He slowly leaned in, his intention clear. She gasped, and tried to pull away. His eyes flickered back to hers again, and he gave a slight shake of his head.

"Sshhhh, it's ok," he whispered, looking into her eyes, gently stroking her cheek. He saw her eyes relax, some of the fear gone. He looked back to her mouth, tracing it with his finger.

"Annie," he whispered, and lowering his head, he kissed her, softly.

Pain exploded inside his head and he jerked away from her, crying out, doubled over, hands clutching his head.

"Mitchell!" Padraig yelled, grabbing Mitchell by the shoulders. "What is it? Mitchell!"

Samuel did not move, and neither did the woman.

"What the hell!" Mitchell yelled, palms of his hands now pressed against his eyes. The pain lessened a bit, and he looked at Padraig.

"Are you ok?" Padraig asked again. Mitchell nodded, and slowly straightened up, but felt far from alright.

"What the hell happened?" Padraig asked him. Mitchell just shook his head, pressing his hands to his temples.

_Get this over with,_ whispered in his mind.

Looking back at the woman, Mitchell's head ached, and he was tired. She was still pressed up against the wall, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, watching him.

_Just kill her._

He wanted to feed, and he wanted a drink, not necessarily in that order. He stepped in front of her, close again, and focused on what he had to do.

"No, please, don't," she whispered tearfully, understanding something had changed.

"Too late," he whispered, eyes flashing black.

Grabbing her head with both hands, he twisted viciously before she could scream. He smiled as he heard her neck break, and the ache in his head faded.

"Samuel, clean this up, okay?" he said, walking away from her body, not waiting for an answer.

Looking at Padraig, he nodded toward the elevator. "Let's go find a drink."

ooooooo


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

**BH belongs to the brilliant Toby Whithouse. **

**Seems Mitchell starts to learn a few things about Wyndam...but does he really understand?**

* * *

><p>As Mitchell stabbed the elevator button with his finger, Padraig started after him.<p>

"Padraig," Samuel warned, shaking his head.

"He needs this, Samuel," Padraig told him. "I'll get it done, and I'll call if I need any help." Not waiting to see Samuel's reaction, Padraig ran to catch up with Mitchell.

After leaving the car park, Mitchell entered the first pub he saw. He had not spoken since the park. Going to an empty table against the back wall, he slumped into a chair, making sure to face out into the pub, able to watch everyone.

Padraig stopped at the bar and ordered whiskey, managing to come to the table with a full bottle and two glasses. Sitting down, Padraig poured them both a drink. Mitchell threw his down in one gulp, and Padraig poured him another. He drank this one the same way. The third drink sat in the glass for a bit.

Padraig didn't speak, occasionally taking a drink, waiting for Mitchell to calm down. Mitchell was still slumped in his chair, eyes vacant, searching the room, but not really seeing anything. Padraig finished his drink and poured himself another. Finally, Mitchell sat up and leaned on the table, staring at his glass. With a hiss, he grabbed it and tossed back its contents, and refilled the glass again.

"What happened, Mitchell?" Padraig finally asked him. Mitchell just shrugged. "You were vicious in killing her, why?"

"Isn't that what we do?" Mitchell snarled.

"Sometimes, but not for this," Padraig told him quietly. "When you kissed her, what were you thinking?"

"What the hell do you mean?"

"Who were you thinking of?" Padraig asked.

"No one!" Mitchell said loudly. "What the fuck is this, the inquisition! She was pretty, I was playing with her! That's it! Jesus, Páidí! I thought we were here for some drinks!"

Padraig was quiet, knowing Mitchell was too angry to answer that question.

"The pain in your head, it cut through you, right?" Padraig finally asked. Mitchell's eyes darted to Padraig. "Like someone was inside your skull with an axe, just slamming it into your brain over and over," Padraig said, pouring more whiskey into their glasses.

"How the hell do you know that?" Mitchell demanded.

"Because that's what it felt like for me."

Mitchell straightened up, and stared at Padraig, until Padraig returned his look.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mitchell asked loudly.

Padraig gestured to him to keep his voice down, and looked around to make sure they were not attracting attention. With a sigh, Padraig emptied his glass in one gulp, and poured himself another drink.

"Padraig! What are you talkin' about?" The alcohol was making Mitchell's Irish more pronounced.

"You've been here a month, right?" Padraig asked, and Mitchell nodded. "How many times have you fed from Wyndam?"

"I dunno! What's that have to do with anything?"

"Everything. Just tell me, as best you can. How many times?"

"Ahhh, I really don' know," Mitchell told him, feeling uncomfortable talking about it. "I didn't know what day it was, or what time. I was drugged the first couple times, but then he just came in, and I fed."

"Hmm. How often were you blood-drunk?"

"Oh, come on, Páidí," Mitchell said, looking away, embarrassed.

"Mitchell, it's important."

"Aah," Mitchell sighed. "That was pretty constant, after those first few times. Up until I started feeding from humans again, a few days ago."

"Oh, Mitchell," Padraig's voice was full of sympathy.

"Padraig, what is this? What are you gettin' at?" Mitchell demanded.

"One more question. Did he feed from you?"

Mitchell glanced down at his arm, and rubbed the still unhealed bite marks in his elbow. Looking back at Padraig, he nodded.

"Well, that explains it then," Padraig told him, with a bit of a wry smile.

"Explains what?" Mitchell demanded.

"The pain in your head. It was Wyndam."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Mitchell was losing his patience.

"It means, he didn't like what you were thinking, and he put a stop to it!"

"Padraig, what the hell are you talkin' about?"

"By feeding you so much of his blood, and drinking from you," Padraig explained, "he's now in your mind, and your thoughts, whenever he wants. And he has the power to change your thinking."

"That's insane! No way, I don' believe you. No one can read someone else's mind," Mitchell scoffed.

"What did he tell you that first day? Think about it, Mitchell. What exactly did he tell you?"

"You're serious about this?" Mitchell asked, and Padraig nodded.

Mitchell's forehead wrinkled with concentration, as he tried to remember that first day. It was hazy, and he'd been drugged, but he did remember Wyndam talking to him about the Old Ones. About them not recruiting, at least not from…as he remembered, he raised his head, eyes on Padraig.

"He told me they don't recruit from humans, because their blood drives a human insane. They use a vampire already made, and feed him their blood, so he becomes bou…" Mitchell caught his breath. "Bound to the Old One," he finished in a whisper.

"If what I've heard is true, it usually takes Wyndam a few days to do this," Padraig told him. "He spent a month with you, feeding you over and over. I can't begin to imagine what he knows about you."

"I don't believe this, Páidí. This is insane!"

"We've all heard the talk of the powers of the Old Ones. A lot of it is made up by vampires just wanting to make a name for themselves. But Old Ones do have powers, Mitchell, and I know for fact that this one is true." Padraig took another swallow of his drink.

"Have you heard that whispering voice yet?" Padraig asked. Mitchell nodded almost imperceptibly. "You think it's your own thoughts, but it's not. It's him, in your mind. And Wyndam is…special," Padraig said, looking into his glass. "He's not like Thomas, or the others. He's older, and has powers none of them have. Powers we don't even know about. If he's given you that much of his blood, I don't know what he can do with you."

Mitchell sat back in the chair, shocked. Why hadn't he seen it?

_Because I didn't want you to, John, _whispered in his mind.

Mitchell closed his eyes against it, against Wyndam. He tried to shut it out, close it off, but could still feel that whisper.

"What am I gonna do?" Mitchell asked Padraig. "He told me he's now my maker, but I thought that just meant…ya know, mostly like with Herrick, just with more rules or something."

"No, it's very different from that. And there's nothing you can do," Padraig said, shaking his head.

_You'll get used to it._

"No!" Mitchell yelled pushing his hands against his head, and jumping up from his chair. The barman looked sharply at them, but Padraig waved him off.

"This can't…I won't let you…no!" Mitchell said out loud. He heard a soft sigh in his mind, and then a brush of calm went through him, quashing his anger.

He tried to feel angry at Wyndam, tried to focus on the anger and let it build, but it wouldn't come. He just remained calm. He slowly sat back down in his chair, and looked at Padraig.

"Sucks, doesn't it?" Padraig said softly. "And the worst part? Soon, you'll be lost without the connection, you'll come to depend on it, look for it, and want it. You won't want to live without it."

"No, I don't want this! I'll never want this! This is…slavery, Padraig! And I won't…I can't…oh God, no, it can't be this!" Mitchell held his head in his hands. "What if I refuse to listen? What if I just ignore…"

"You can't. What were you thinking when you kissed the girl?

"I was thinking of how much she looked like Annie, and how upset Annie was on the phone."

"What did you feel?"

"I dunno…I was remembering Annie, and I wanted to kiss her, make her feel better."

"You were reconnecting with your human feelings for her," Padraig told him. "And then the pain came."

Mitchell nodded.

"He didn't want you to feel it, to think about her that way. That's how they do it. With pain, hunger, pleasure, euphoria, whatever they want you to feel. And you feel it. Like just now. He didn't want you to be angry, so you're not."

They were both silent, Mitchell shocked, Padraig just quiet.

"Why did you break her neck?" Padraig asked.

"Because I was tired. My head hurt, and I just wanted it over. As soon as I did it, the pain…" Mitchell couldn't finish the sentence.

"Went away," Padraig said for him. Mitchell didn't answer, just stared miserably at his drink.

"How do you know all this?" Mitchell finally asked.

"Learned it the hard way," Padraig smiled ruefully. "You've heard about Thomas. Most of its true. Not only did he think it amusing to have an Irishman bound to a Scotsman, he laughed as he made me understand what that meant. And he took his time letting me figure it out. It was not pleasant."

"What do you mean?"

"I was in the States. 1986 or 87, I think, having a brilliant time. Lots of money, parties, ya know, the wall street boom…and the women! You know how they love the accent!" Padraig smiled, remembering.

"So what happened?"

"I got sloppy, a bit too…visible. Next I know, couple of messengers from the Old Ones show up, and I'm summoned to South America. We took the long way getting there, better part of a week. They wouldn't let me feed, at all. I was starving by the time we docked, but still no feeding. Next thing I know, I'm facing Wyndam, Thomas and Sophia. Seems I needed to be 'reined in', but that I could still be useful. Thomas volunteered. I spent another week locked in a room, and…well, you know what happened. When I came out, Thomas was my maker, and I was bound to him.

"Shit, Páidí!"

"Yeah, wasn't fun. I spent the next several years learning what that meant. There were uncounted times of…discomfort, and returns to Thomas. But, that passed, and now, here I am."

Mitchell was silent, trying to comprehend what his friend was telling him.

"But like I said, Mitchell," Padraig told him. "It was only about 2 weeks for me, and Thomas is much younger than Wyndam. I don't know what Wyndam is capable of in a month."

"And now?"

"The hard part is over. Now, the feeding and the euphoria are amazing, and I pretty much do what I want, when I want. If he needs me to do something, I do it, and then go on my way."

"Like now. He sent you, to tell me this," Mitchell said accusingly.

"No," Padraig shook his head, "This is not Thomas. This is all Wyndam, asking me to help you. He knows how...independent...you are, and he wants me to help you. He asked, Mitchell. And Wyndam never asks. He even told me he wouldn't order me to do this, and I could say no. I'm here because I'm your friend, Mitchell." They were both silent for several moments.

"I still don't believe this," Mitchell finally said, "that we can't fight this. If we get away from them, far enough, there has to be a limit to what they can do!"

"No," Padraig shook his head. "Don't you think I tried? I spent years trying everything, Mitchell. And I mean **everything.** But he was always there, inside my head. You remember the hunger during this past month, before you really accepted Wyndam? Multiply that a hundred-fold. Could you survive that, fight that? I couldn't." Padraig gulped more whiskey. "Then I didn't want to."

Mitchell downed another drink, trying to make sense of what Padraig was saying. He still didn't believe it, but he had felt the pain, and had heard Wyndam's voice.

"I can't do this, Padraig," Mitchell said, shaking his head. "I won't. I'd rather die."

"He won't let you, Mitchell," Padraig told him quietly. "You don't have a choice. I have no idea how it will be for you, because of Wyndam's power, but if I couldn't get away from Thomas, there is no way you can fight Wyndam on this."

Mitchell didn't answer, just stared at his glass.

"Would you like to hear the good news?" Padrig asked, and Mitchell shrugged miserably, not really believing there could be any good news. "The feeding and the blood will be unlike anything you've experienced, even compared to the past month. It just gets better and better. The euphoria, the sensations, **the power…**it's…incredible!" Padraig grinned with excitement, his eyes bright.

"Really?" Mitchell asked shakily, looking at Padraig.

"Oh yeah!" Padraig answered, laughing. "Now, when you feed, it's beyond intoxicating, and it just builds and builds on itself. That's why the Old Ones feed so much. They don't need the blood, they do it for the power that comes from it. And I know you, Mitchell. You will love it!"

Even though Padraig was enthusiastic, and confident that this would be a good thing, Mitchell still didn't like it, and didn't completely believe it. He knew things were different, that the blood felt different, but Wyndam in his thoughts? That was just too insane.

They sat without speaking for a long time, Mitchell putting away the majority of the whiskey. He was slumped in the chair again, staring into his almost empty glass, and was still too sober. Padraig was considering getting another bottle from the barman.

Finally, Mitchell took a deep breath, and sat up, looking around the pub. It was almost empty.

"I'm hungry," he told Padraig, "and this place is empty."

"I know just the place," Padraig told him with a grin. "The late crowd is very drunk, and there's plenty to go around!"

oooooooooo


	16. Chapter 16

**BH is TW's.  
><strong>

**Perhaps a lighter moment for Mitchell, but there is still Wyndam and that pesky learning thing...**

**Reviews would be most appreciated and welcome!**

* * *

><p>Mitchell groaned, and his hand went to his pounding head. Slowly opening his eyes, everything was blurry, and white. It took a few moments, but as his eyes focused, he realized he was lying on his stomach, on a bed, staring at a pillow. Slowly lifting his head, he saw that he was back in his room.<p>

Carefully rolling over and sitting up, he heard a groan from the sofa. A moment later, Padraig's head came into view, as he slowly sat up. Padraig's eyes were still closed, and he carefully laid his head on the back of the sofa. His mouth was covered in dried blood.

"Pái…" Mitchell cleared his throat and started again. "Páidí, what happened?" he whispered. Padraig groaned, but didn't answer.

Standing up slowly, Mitchell headed for the bathroom. Looking down, he saw that his boots had been removed, but he was still dressed and his clothing was covered in blood. He couldn't remember feeding, but felt as though he had - some of a blood drunk remained. At least, he thought so. Right now, his head hurt so much from last night's whiskey, he wasn't quite sure.

After standing under the shower for a very long time, his head felt better and started to clear. He didn't quite remember anything after that first pub, just a few flashes. He did remember the conversation about Wyndam, though, and he'd have to deal with that, but later. Now he wanted coffee. Strong black coffee. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he threw the switch on the coffee pot, and went to the closet for clean clothes.

As Padraig dragged himself into the bathroom, Mitchell tossed him some clothes, and then sat down in a chair, waiting for the coffee to finish. By the time Padraig finally emerged from the bathroom, Mitchell was fully dressed and on his second cup of coffee.

"What the hell happened last night?" Mitchell asked. "How'd we get back here?"

"I remember going to two," Padraig waved a hand at him while gulping coffee, "or was it three, clubs, but that's about it. Where'd the blood come from, do ya know?"

"Not a clue."

"Well, somehow we found our way home again, Lassie!" Padraig laughed, and then put a hand to his head and groaned.

"Ha! Serves you right!" Mitchell laughed. "What time is it?"

"Uh, four-thirty," Padraig told him, looking at his watch. "And from the looks of the light under the drapes, I'd say in the afternoon."

"Now what?"

"Well, I suppose we'll have to go downstairs at some point, face the music, or the piper, or…whatever," Padraig carefully sat down in the other chairs.

"What's the matter, old man? Can't take it anymore?" Mitchell teased.

"Hey, I may be a hundred years….."

"Hundred and five," Mitchell interrupted, grinning.

"…older than you," Padraig said, ignoring Mitchell, "but I can drink you under the table any time!"

"Oh yeah? How about now? How 'bout right now, Páidí-Boy?"

"Bring it on, Lassie!"

They both laughed, remembering their time in the States and how they gave each other the nicknames. Then they were silent, drinking their coffee.

"I'm gonna have to ask him, Padraig," Mitchell said eventually.

"Yeah, I know. Just be prepared. He doesn't like to be questioned. And he can be…brutal."

"So I've heard. Why do you think he chose me? I asked him that the first day, and he just smiled."

"I dunno, Mitchell. Thomas doesn't talk about him much, but rumors are that Wyndam's been watching you a long time."

"I met him, ya know, just a few years after I was recruited. Herrick and I were in Rome, and we were called to a meeting with him. Or I was. Herrick waited outside."

"What happened?"

"Not much. Met him, he asked how I was doing. We had a drink, talked about Dublin a bit…that's about it. I wasn't quite sure what all the fuss was about, but Herrick was insane about it."

"How long was the meeting?" Padraig asked, eyes narrowing.

"I dunno. Didn't seem very long."

"Really? Think about it. How long were in with him?"

"Aah," Mitchell's forehead wrinkled as he tried to remember that day so long ago. "It was after dark, after supper I think, when we met. And when I left, it was..." Mitchell stared at Padraig, "...it was...morning!"

"Yeah, thought so," Padraig nodded. "He started back then with you. For whatever reason, you got his attention, Mitchell, even then. I think he's been planning this for qui…" Padraig broke off, closing his eyes in pain.

"What? You need some aspirin, old man?" Mitchell laughed, but saw his friend was not laughing. "Páidí, what is it?"

Padraig held up his hand, motioning to Mitchell to be quiet. After a few moments, Padraig took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

"Afraid I can't tell you anymore, mate," Padraig told him. "You'll have to get the rest from Wyndam."

"What? What do you mean…can't, or won't?" Mitchell asked, understanding dawning.

"Can't."

"Jesus, Páidí, are you telling me….?"

"Yeah, that's all Thomas will let me tell you. Guess we better get downstairs, find out what we did last night, right?" Padraig stood up, and started for the door.

"You go ahead. I'm gonna hang here a bit."

"No, you need to come with me, Mitchell," Padraig told him. At Mitchell's questioning look, Padraig just shrugged his shoulders. "Dunno. Just know we need to go downstairs."

After several moments, Mitchell pushed himself off the couch, and followed his friend.

Samuel was waiting for them when they exited the elevator on the main floor. He was scowling.

"You two certainly kept us busy last night!" Samuel groused. Padraig laughed and Mitchell grinned, but Samuel was having none of it. "You are just lucky we found you when we did!"

The main floor lobby wasn't as large as those in a big chain hotels, but was decorated much the same, with comfortable sofas and chairs, tables, artwork and cut flowers.

Mitchell didn't pay much attention to the decorating, because of all the vampires. There were at least two dozen of them, sitting and standing around the lobby. As he and Padraig entered the lobby, the vampires that were sitting, stood up, and all of them watched, silently, as he and Padraig walked across the lobby. Mitchell tried to ignore them, but it was impossible.

"What the fuck is their problem?" he hissed to Padraig, who laughed quietly.

"You're a celebrity, mate," Padraig whispered. "You thought your reputation was something before, just wait. That was nothing compared to what it is now."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Mitchell! You really can be daft sometimes! Not only have you been chosen by Wyndam, you actually resisted him for a month. It's unheard of!"

"Gentlemen," Samuel interrupted, clearly annoyed. "If you've finished? They are waiting for you." He gestured to a set of closed doors, over which a brass plaque read Conference Room.

"Ya know, Samuel," Mitchell said, also annoyed, stepping close to Samuel. "I may just have to finish what I started with you!" Samuel had the good sense to take a step backward. There was a collective gasp from the vampires in the lobby, and Mitchell turned and glared at them, until most turned away.

"See," Padraig chuckled, "there you go again! Reputation, Lassie, reputation!" he whispered. With that, Padraig knocked on the door, then opened it and he and Mitchell went into the conference room. Samuel did not follow them.

Wyndam and Thomas were waiting for them, seated at a long rectangular table. Wyndam was, of course, seated at the head of the table on the left. Thomas sat to Wyndam's left, facing the doors, and gestured for Mitchell and Padraig to take the only two seats on the other side of the table. That placed Mitchell and Padraig with their backs to the door, and immediately set Mitchell on edge.

Mitchell briefly glanced at Wyndam, but could read nothing of Wyndam's look.

"Lord Wyndam, Thomas," Padraig said with a small nod. Mitchell looked at him sharply, but Padraig was looking at Thomas. Mitchell said nothing, but took the seat next to Padraig. Mitchell did notice that his seat was the one closest to Wyndam.

"Gentlemen," Wyndam began, smiling. "Did you two have fun last night?"

"Yes, sir, we did," Padraig answered. Mitchell still said nothing, but nodded.

"I'm glad to hear it, although I think you kept Samuel on his toes, cleaning up after you!"

"We, ah, hope it wasn't too much trouble," Padraig said, glancing at Mitchell. "We did get a bit carried away. You know Irishmen and their whiskey," he said with a slight laugh.

"Yes, I do, Padraig. Thank you for keeping an eye on Mitchell – I think he needed it last night," Wyndam said, still smiling. "Mitchell, did you enjoy last night?" Wyndam asked, forcing Mitchell to look at him.

"Ah, yeah, thanks." Mitchell didn't know why he was so nervous.

"After all that feeding, I would hope so!" Wyndam smiled, but Mitchell noticed the smile did not reach Wyndam's eyes.

"Shall we get to it?" Thomas said, interrupting.

"Yes, Thomas, I think that's a good idea," Wyndam said. Turning to Padraig, Wyndam sat back in his chair, fingers interlaced in front of him.

"Padraig, what did you tell Mitchell last night?"

"What you asked me to, sir," Padraig answered. "I tried to help him understand this new connection to you, and how good it will be."

"Are you sure that's all you told him?" Wyndam asked quietly. Mitchell looked at Wyndam, trying to fathom where this was going.

"Yes, that's all he told me," Mitchell interrupted. "We talked about how the process worked, and what it means, for me." Mitchell didn't know why he felt he needed to protect his friend, but he had an overwhelming feeling that Wyndam was not happy with Padraig.

"I am talking to Padraig," Wyndam told Mitchell, his voice cold.

"I…I believe that's all, sir," Padraig said, shifting in his chair. "We talked about how this process allows you to hear his thoughts, and how helpful that can be…" Padraig's voice trailed off seeing the look from Thomas.

"I think what Lord Wyndam is getting at, Padraig," Thomas said sternly, "is the part where you discussed trying to stop that."

"Mitchell asked the question, and I answered it in a way I thought he'd best understand," Padraig said quietly.

"What is this about?" Mitchell demanded.

"Be quiet!" Wyndam said loudly, his tone harsh. "I won't tell you again, John. I am talking to Padraig."

Mitchell started to open his mouth, but Padraig hit him on the leg under the table.

"Perhaps, sir, if you could tell me what you think I said incorrectly, I could clarify it?" Padraig asked.

"What I…**THINK **you said wrong?" Wyndam hissed.

"No, no, that's not what I meant. I'm just not sure what I said that was wrong," Padraig said quickly.

"Thomas, perhaps you should explain it to your….child," Wyndam's voice was dripping with sarcasm. Mitchell scowled, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Padraig, it seems you and John discussed ways of trying to get away from us, ways of reversing this process. Why would you do such a thing?" Thomas' tone was deceptively quiet.

Mitchell looked at Padraig, confusion evident on both their faces.

"I don't…," Padraig started. "I'm sorry, I don't remember any such discussion."

"You don't remember discussing going to Canada, or to New Zealand? Or trying to call airlines for flight times? Or telling John all the things you did to try to break away from me?" Thomas was angry now.

"Uhh, no, I'm sorry, I don't," Padraig said softly.

"Really! Well, you did, several times over. We cannot have this, Padraig. I thought we were long past this," Thomas said quietly, warning in his tone.

Mitchell felt panic setting in. This was going from bad to worse, quickly, and somehow it was his fault. He looked to Wyndam, silently asking to say something. Wyndam shook his head.

"Sir," Padraig said quietly, looking at his hands. "We were very drunk last night, and I don't remember saying any of that. I apologize for doing so, and ask that you forgive my indiscretion."

Mitchell had never heard his friend ask for forgiveness from anyone, and it shocked him. Again, Mitchell looked at Wyndam, but Wyndam was watching Padraig. Thomas glanced at Wyndam, who gave a slight nod without taking his eyes from Padraig. Turning his attention back to Padraig, Thomas leaned in on the table, eyes narrowed and focused on Padraig.

Padraig closed his eyes, swallowed nervously, and Mitchell saw him tense and brace himself, waiting for something.

"No, wait!" Mitchell said quickly.

"Mitchell, shut up!" Padraig hissed at him.

"No!" Mitchell insisted, sitting up and leaning toward Wyndam. "Wyndam, I don't know what this is about, but if anyone is to blame for something here, it's me. I'm the one who fucked up last night, and dragged Padraig into it. Don't take my mistakes out on him!"

Wyndam held up a hand toward Thomas, and then looked at Mitchell.

"What do you think you…..did wrong last night?" Wyndam asked quietly, making his point about Mitchell's use of vulgarities.

"I thought about her," Mitchell told him in a rush. "Annie. I remembered the human feelings for her, and for a moment, I wanted them again." Wyndam nodded, motioning him to continue.

"I don't know why, other than the reporter looked like her. But then I heard you, and I was able to finish what I had to do." Mitchell waited, but Wyndam still said nothing.

"I wouldn't have figured that out," Mitchell continued, "if Padraig hadn't explained it to me. If we got carried away while we were drunk, I'm sorry. We really don't remember it. But I do remember that you helped me last night, when I needed it."

"You expect me to believe that?" Wyndam asked coldly.

"It's the truth," Mitchell answered steadily.

"Really?" Wyndam raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps I should find out for myself, John."

Mitchell sat back, knowing what Wyndam was demanding. After a moment, Mitchell took a deep breath, and nodded to Wyndam.

"Be careful, John. Do not fight me on this," Wyndam warned. Mitchell nodded almost imperceptibly, and continued to look at Wyndam.

Wyndam was silent for a moment, assessing. Then his ice blue eyes narrowed, and, laser sharp, seared into Mitchell. Mitchell did not blink or look away, but found he couldn't breathe. Again, Mitchell felt the brushing through his mind, and was once more standing aside, watching from a distance. But then, the brush became strong and insistent, almost hurtful, burning its way through his mind. He wanted to cry out, to rail against it, but he forced himself to leave his mind open to Wyndam. As he felt the sifting through his memories, it took most of his strength to remain still, and not struggle against it. Everything else faded away, and it was just Wyndam, trolling through his mind.

Several moments later, Mitchell felt a lessening of the intensity, and the insistent burning in his mind stopped. The soft whispering brush remained, continuing to sift through his mind, stopping every so often. Finally, Wyndam smiled, and released Mitchell. Mitchell drew a ragged breathe. His shoulders slumped, and he felt exhausted.

"Alright, John," Wyndam said. "I believe you. Things were said in a drunken state, and we'll leave it at that. No harm done, by anyone. I will consider the matter closed, as long as we don't have to repeat this conversation." Wyndam looked pointedly at Padraig, and then Thomas.

Padraig was clearly startled by the reprieve from Wyndam, but nodded. Thomas looked angry, but said nothing.

Mitchell tried to even his breathing, and shake the feeling of being off-center. He still wasn't sure what had happened, or why Wyndam and Thomas were so angry, but at least Padraig wouldn't bear the brunt of that anger.

"Now, I have a new task for you, John" Wyndam said, ending the discussion on the previous night's activities.

"Ok, whatever you need," Mitchell answered, still trying to catch his breath.

"Good. Padraig," Wyndam continued, "Thomas has graciously consented to loan you to me for a bit, so you will be working with John on this."

"Of course, whatever you need," Padraig said, echoing Mitchell.

"Excellent. You will both need to pack. You'll be leaving in two days, on Thursday evening. Samuel will have the details for you then. In the meantime, do not leave the hotel."

"Ahh, Wyndam?" Mitchell started, but stopped upon seeing the anger on Wyndam's face. Mitchell did not know what he'd done now, but apparently it was something that angered Wyndam. Again.

"You have a question, John?" Wyndam finally prompted.

"Ah, yes, thanks," Mitchell answered, not sure whether he should ask it or not. "Where are we going?"

"Why, John," Wyndam said with **that **smile. "I thought that would be clear. You're going back to Barry."

oooooooooo

"I don't know that this is a good idea, Wyndam," Thomas said after Mitchell and Padraig left the conference room. "Did you see the shock on John's face when you said Barry?"

"Yes," Wyndam smiled again. "It was perfect, wasn't it? Thomas, you worry too much. John is fine, especially after last night, and just now. By the way, let Padraig know, although they overindulged a bit, I am pleased with his behavior."

"Yes, he did well," Thomas laughed. "I must say, though, he really wasn't sure what was going to happen to him. Just as it should be!"

Wyndam did not laugh.

"Tell me, Edgar, does John have any idea what you are really after with the ghost?"

"No, and it will stay that way."

"How are you going to control him in Barry? We both know the affect that will have on him. He's not been in this very long, and there is still a danger."

"With the thoughts I just placed in his mind, and what is going to happen over the next two days," Wyndam smiled, standing up to end the conversation, "by Thursday, he'll be chomping at the bit to do what is needed in Barry.

oooooooooo


	17. Chapter 17

**What has Mitchell learned? And is he really going back to Barry? **

**Reviews and comments are most appreciated, and most welcome, and I promise not to set Wyndam on anyone...  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Mitchell was in shock. He heard Wyndam say Barry, and still didn't believe it. He never thought he'd be going back there. There was no time to ask Wyndam any questions, though. Mitchell and Padraig were dismissed with a wave of Wyndam's hand, and Samuel opening the door.<p>

This time, Mitchell didn't notice the stares from the other vampires as he returned to the elevator. Padraig didn't speak either, and they went to Mitchell's room in silence. Pulling two beers from the fridge, Mitchell handed one to Padraig, and took a long drink of his own. Flopping into one of the chairs, Mitchell closed his eyes, feeling completely drained. After several long moments, he opened his eyes and looked at Padraig.

"What the hell was **that**?" he asked.

"That, Mitchell," Padraig said with his head on the back of his chair and eyes closed, "was a small example of Old Ones exercising their considerable power. I don't know why, though," Padraig said shakily. "I'm still not sure what they were talking about."

"Then why did you apologize?"

"Because it's what they expected!"

"That's insane, Páidí!"

"Mitchell, you still don't get it! You still don't know all they can do." Padraig took a long drink of the beer. He was visibly shaken. "They expect certain….behaviors, a certain deference. You just have to do it." He took another drink. "Why did you defend me?"

"Because you didn't do anything wrong!"

"No, why did you say something after Wyndam ordered you not to?"

"I've never seen you afraid," Mitchell told him. "Something was going to happen to you, because of me, and I couldn't let it."

"Exactly. Something was going to happen to me. What do you think it was?"

"I have no idea, Páidí!" Mitchell shook his head. "But Thomas was eager for it! What was he gonna do?"

"That's the problem, Mitchell – you don't' know, and don't want to understand. I know what he can do, but have no idea what he was gonna do," Padraig sighed. "All I know is it would have been painful, and there was nothing I could do about it."

"I've never seen you apologize to anyone, Páidí, let alone sit there and just take whatever was coming," Mitchell said quietly. "Why are you so afraid of them? You weren't even gonna fight back, were you?"

"I can't, Mitchell! Why don't you get this? We can't fight them, not anymore! Not after what they've done to us! They've seen to that!" Padraig was shaking his head. "Shit, Thomas is not gonna let this go, I know it."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mitchell's voice was full of frustration. "Páidí, I'm crashing here! I feel like I can't get my feet under me, like I'm in one of those funfair houses with the moving floor and all the mirrors! Nothing is real or what it seems, and just when I think I've got it sorted, everything shifts! Jesus, will you just give me some straight answers?"

"I can't, Mitchell!" Padraig sat back in his chair, head down. "All I can tell you is this – the pain you felt last night? Thinking of Annie? Nothing compared to what they can make us feel. It's the age-old method of reward and punishment, and the Old Ones are beyond experts at it. Keeping you off your feet is just the first step."

"So what do we do then? Just dance to whatever tune…they…" Mitchell stopped, remembering. Remembering what Wyndam said that night in Barry.

_**You're going to dance for me.**_

"Oh, God!" Mitchell said, dragging his fingers through his hair. "I can't do this, Páidí! I'd rather put a stake into my own heart!"

"Yeah? Well, you don't get to decide that either!" Padraig told him angrily.

"What the hell does that mean?" Mitchell shouted.

"Ahhh!" Padraig yelled, hands going to his head. He clenched his jaw, and held his breath, eyes shut tight. A few moments later, he let out a slow hiss, and opened his eyes, pain etched in them. Another topic he was forbidden to discuss with Mitchell.

"Think about someone that's been doing this," Padraig said instead, gesturing to his head and the pain he'd just experienced, "for almost a thousand years. And that's who **you** are bound to. Do you really think he's gonna let you kill yourself after going to all this trouble?"

Neither of them spoke for several moments. Finally, Padraig went over to the fridge and pulled out two more beers.

"We're gonna need more beer," he said, calling Samuel on the mobile.

oooooooooo

Padraig eventually went to his own room, slightly drunk, but still not laughing. Their conversation had alternated between poor attempts at reminiscing, and angrily discussing the Old Ones in general. Padraig would not, or could not, tell Mitchell any more about Wyndam.

Changing tactics, Mitchell was finally able to convince Padraig to do him a favor, if things went as Mitchell suspected they would. After that, Padraig left for his own room and sleep. Mitchell had smoked cigarette after cigarette, drinking several more beers, before finally falling asleep.

The hunger clawing through his stomach woke him.

Dragging himself out of bed and over to the sink, Mitchell splashed water over his face, and took several deep breaths. The hunger didn't go away. How could he be hungry? He and Padraig had fed, apparently several times, during their night out.

He thought of calling Padraig, but didn't want to expose him to more trouble. And he wouldn't call Samuel.

_What the hell is wrong?_ he asked himself. He needed carbs or sugar, something to stop the hunger. Rummaging through the small fridge, there was only beer left, nothing that would help with the hunger. He remembered Padraig saying something about a dining room, downstairs, off the lobby. Throwing on jeans and his boots, he left his room in search of something to stop the hunger.

Getting into the elevator, his stomach started to cramp. Quickly pushing the Lobby button, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. The elevator started to move, but he felt it rise up, not move downward. Looking at the buttons, he saw the Seventh floor button was lit, the top floor. He mashed the Lobby button again, but it wouldn't light, and the elevator kept rising. His stomach cramped, and he doubled over, arms hugging his middle.

_What the fuck?_ He hadn't felt this way since….in that room, waiting for Wyndam. _Oh God, no, not again,_ he thought. He fell back against the wall of the elevator, hugging his waist with both arms. It had come on him so fast, and so intense, but how? The cramps came again, punishing and stronger than ever, and knocked him to his knees. He squeezed his eyes against it.

He heard the elevator doors open, and he opened his eyes, squinting against the pain. Samuel stood in the open doors, and reached down, grabbing Mitchell. Half dragging him, Samuel pulled him out of the elevator and into the open room outside the elevators. Stumbling through what looked like a sitting room, Mitchell kept one arm wrapped around his middle, the other holding onto Samuel.

"Samuel, I need to feed," he whispered. Samuel didn't answer, but instead steered him into a room off to the right.

Wyndam was sitting in a leather straight chair in the middle of the room. He smiled, that smile, as Samuel brought Mitchell into the room. An empty chair sat next to Wyndam, facing the opposite way.

"Hello, John," Wyndam said quietly. "Have a seat," he said, gesturing to the empty chair. Samuel pushed Mitchell into the chair.

"Wyndam, I need to feed," Mitchell said, arms wrapped around his middle through another cramp.

"Yes, you do," Wyndam told him, "thanks to the suggestion I left in your mind earlier today."

"What?" Mitchell asked breathlessly.

"You didn't believe Padraig, so I thought a personal demonstration would help you to understand."

Mitchell didn't answer, still holding his stomach.

"Look at me, John." Mitchell did so, and saw Wyndam was no longer smiling.

"The only thing that will stop this hunger is my blood," Wyndam told him. "The only thing. You know that, don't you?" It wasn't really a question. Mitchell didn't answer, because the moment Wyndam had said it, Mitchell knew it to be true.

"It will be like this whenever I deem it necessary to remind you. Now do you begin to understand?" Wyndam's tone was quiet, but the truth behind it was clear. Mitchell still didn't answer.

"Samuel," Wyndam said, standing up. "Return Mitchell to his room. Apparently, he is not yet hungry enough."

"No!" Mitchell said, looking up at Wyndam. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, the hunger clawing into his throat, burning as it grew. "I'm here, I'm doing what you ask!"

"Because you still refuse to fully and unconditionally accept this!" Wyndam told him. "I've tried to show you, to teach you, this is completely different from Herrick being your maker. You are bound to me, and that means, first and foremost, you need me, and my blood, to survive without this hunger. Second, you need my blood whenever I decide you need it."

Mitchell shook his head, not wanting to believe Wyndam's words.

"Why must you always learn things the hard way, John?" Wyndam asked quietly. "I sent Padraig to you, to explain things, to help you understand, to be nice about this. And still, you refuse to accept it." Now it was Wyndam shaking his head.

"Unlike your time with Herrick, you will not be allowed to pick and choose when you are vampire," Wyndam paused, until Mitchell looked at him again, "to do whatever you want, whenever you want. Your actions now have consequences, John. Those consequences can be pleasant, or painful."

Mitchell couldn't answer, the hunger now consuming him, the thought of Wyndam's blood taking over.

"Today," Wyndam continued, "you chose to act poorly, not accepting what I have told you, what Padraig has told you, and again, trying to think of ways to end this. When you choose poorly, I will remind you, and the consequence will be painful."

Mitchell lowered his head, another wave of cramping came, and he doubled over. It was several moments before he could sit up again.

"This is slavery, Wyndam. I can't…" another cramp doubled him over again.

"No, John, it's not," Wyndam said, sitting down again. "It's you accepting and choosing to be what you are, and who I am. And I'm going to remind you of that, whenever you need it. With whatever it takes. Tonight, that happens to be my blood."

Mitchell licked his lips, the clawing hunger now focused only on Wyndam's blood. It was all he wanted, and he had to have it.

"So," Wyndam said, unbuttoning his shirt sleeve. "Do you begin to understand?" he asked, starting to roll up his sleeve.

Mitchell nodded, eyes flashing black.

"Good. Now, let's talk about what you're going to do in Barry."

Mitchell's stomach growled, and fangs out, he reached for Wyndam's wrist.

oooooooooo

"Mitchell, wake up!" Padraig yelled, pounding on the door.

"Jesus! Wake up the dead, whydontya?" Mitchell groused, stumbling from bed and unlocking the door.

"What are you doing?" Padraig demanded, coming into Mitchell's room. "Are you still sleeping! Come on, we gotta go! Samuel's waiting for us!"

"Páidí**,** what the hell are you talking about?" Mitchell demanded, flopping into a chair, holding his head in his hands. He didn't think he'd had that much beer last night, but apparently so.

"The trip, to Barry? You, me, Samuel? Any of this ring a bell?"

"Páidí**,** that's not until Thursday."

"Right, that's today."

"I am way too tired to try to figure out what you are talking about. Come back tomorrow," Mitchell told him, getting up and heading back to the bed.

"Oh no, no you don't," Padraig said, pulling Mitchell by the arm toward the bathroom and shower. "You need to get cleaned up now, and get downstairs!"

Mitchell jerked his arm away from Padraig, and stepped back from him.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded.

"Mitchell, what's with the eyes?" Padraig asked slowly.

"What eyes?"

"Yours."

"What about them?"

"They're black."

"No, they're not," Mitchell said, blinking.

"Yeah, they are. Not feeding black. I mean they're not brown, they're black. And blue. Black with blue in them."

"What?"

"Ok, come on. Sit down. You need to sort this…" Padraig pushed Mitchell back to the chairs, and they each took a seat.

"Mitchell, today is Thursday," Padriag said quietly. "We are leaving for Barry, now."

"You're serious!" Mitchell said, and Padraig nodded. "No way! Today is Wednesday. We just met with Wyndam and Thomas yesterday."

"No, that was two days ago. I tried to find you yesterday, but you weren't here. Where were you?"

"I was here, Páidí! You and I were here last night, drinking beer. This is some kinda joke, right? It's not funny!"

"No joke, Mitchell. Today is Thursday. Thursday, late afternoon. We are leaving for Barry in half an hour." Padraig was serious. "Think, Mitchell, where have you been?"

"But, how is it Thursd…." Then Mitchell did remember. Wyndam. Feeding from Wyndam. Talking about Barry.

"You know what, Páidí?" Mitchell jumped up, heading for the bathroom. "You're right! Shit, I gotta get dressed!"

"Mitchell," Padraig said cautiously. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, Páidí! Seriously, it's all good! Hey, throw some clothes into the suitcase, will ya? Thanks, mate. I'm gonna have a quick shower." Mitchell closed the bathroom door, ending the conversation.

Once in the bathroom, Mitchell leaned against the closed door, and took a deep breath. He did remember, everything from the past two days. Not only had there been Wyndam's blood, there had been human blood, from several humans. And hunger. Hunger that would not go away. No matter how much he'd fed, or killed, the hunger wouldn't stop. It just got worse.

Until Wyndam made it stop. He remembered that moment with complete clarity. He'd just drained another human, _what was that, three? Four?_ And he'd felt her life flow into him, and was waiting for the euphoria. Instead, the burning, clawing hunger flooded his whole body, stronger than before, and he felt as though he were on fire.

He'd cried out again, asking Wyndam to help him. Wyndam had exploded in anger and fury.

Wyndam had grabbed him, thrown him onto the floor, and held him there. He felt Wyndam's mind sear into his own, unrelenting, demanding, unyielding, wave after wave of force and power. He heard Wyndam tell him to accept this, or the hunger would remain, constant, ever increasing, never satisfied. He felt Wyndam's power hold his mind in a closed hand, able to crush it with a thought; he felt the blood in his veins and knew it was Wyndam's, that it bound him to Wyndam in such a way that with just a thought, Wyndam could crush every cell in his body; and he knew he was helpless to resist it or retreat from it.

This was the power he felt come from Wyndam, and it was only a small part of Wyndam's power.

He could let Wyndam crush him, and leave him in a living hell, full of pain, hunger, and continual feeding, with no thought of anything else. A true monster.

Or he could willingly accept Wyndam as his true maker, willingly be bound to Wyndam for eternity. He could accept this, and let it lead him into an unimaginable life of power, euphoria and experience. He could do this, and maybe, one day, be Wyndam's heir.

And it was his only chance to choose.

The moment he accepted it, life with Wyndam as his maker, fully and without reservation, was burned into his mind. It was the moment Mitchell understood Wyndam's limitless power. It was the moment he stopped trying to fight it. It was the moment he gave himself to it, completely.

It was the moment the hunger vanished and the euphoria returned. He chose correctly, and was rewarded.

Now, showered and dressed, he returned to where Padraig waited, suitcase in hand. Seeing the look on Mitchell's face, Padraig dropped the suitcase, and went to Mitchell, and hugged him.

"Welcome home, brother," Padraig said smiling.

"Thanks, mate," Mitchell grinned. He felt glorious and brilliant and indestructible. And he wanted to go to Barry.


	18. Chapter 18

**Once again, BH belongs to, and is the creative brilliance of, TW  
><strong>

**As another writer so appropriately put it: the review monster gets hungry. His fangs are now showing, and feeding him would be most appreciated!**

* * *

><p>The phone call a few days ago from Wyndam and Mitchell had made George more determined than ever that Nina get out of the city. He was desperate to find a way, and knew it had to be now. The message from Mitchell about the Bristol pub was a warning, telling George to get out of town. The four blokes from the pub that night had been spoiling for a fight, and Mitchell and George were drunk enough that they'd have lost the fight. Mitchell played like he was mental, and the flash of black eyes scared their attackers enough that he and George were able to get away. Afterward, he and Mitchell had considered leaving town, but decided against it. They were just much more careful after that. But the warning from Mitchell was clear. George knew time was running out.<p>

He also knew Mitchell was in trouble, but had no way of helping him, at least not in the near future. Once Nina was safe, elsewhere, out of the city, he would try to find Mitchell. Until then, all he could do was hope that Mitchell was strong enough to hold his own against Wyndam.

While the number of vampires watching George and Nina had increased before Wyndam's call, now the vampires were behaving very differently. They were no longer trying to be inconspicuous. They were now blatant and aggressive, making their presence known. They not only lounged outside of Lawrence Chambers' house, they were standing and joking with one another on the sidewalk directly in front of Honolulu Heights, and on the street around the back of the house, and along the side street. At the hospital, several vampires always followed both George and Nina, never leaving them alone. Willie was among those that always trailed George.

George and Nina had finally taken to going to the hospital chapel for refuge. It let them put a little distance between themselves and the vampires, but even then, the vampires simply waited outside the chapel entrance. George hoped it was painful for them.

The vampires still couldn't follow Annie's rent-a-ghosting, but now it seemed there were vampires almost anywhere she went. When she tried to meet Tom at the cemetery the day after Wyndam's call, there was a vampire at the cemetery entrance. She was able to catch Tom before he got there and warned him off, but it was getting scary to see a vampire wherever she went. It was as though they knew where she was going, but she had no idea how that could be. George believed it was just that there were so many more vampires, they seemed to be everywhere.

After the close call at the cemetery, Annie and Tom thought it best to meet in a church, and decided on All Saints' Church Barry. It was open for services almost every day, and no vampire would enter, so Annie hoped it would be a safe meeting place. They'd met every day since the phone call. Annie noticed that when they met, she did not see any vampires outside, and there were only a few people inside the church, usually the same people. That made her feel better, because the less people that saw Tom, the better.

Tom had moved his hiding place several times, and was now hiding in the Barry Island Pleasure Park. Between the people, the rides, and the games, there were enough places to disappear into. He didn't think he'd been spotted yet.

Annie kept Tom updated on the plan she, George and Nina were considering. They all agreed the only way to get around the vampires was with a diversion of some kind, enough of one to allow George and Nina to get out of the city. If George and Nina could get out of the city, they could head east, to the coast and over to Europe, then disappear.

Tom still wanted to make a direct attack on the vampires, and suggested that he attack them in Lawrence Chambers' house and kill as many he could. He figured while they were busy trying to stop him, George and Nina could get away.

George didn't think this would work. Even with the little he knew of Wyndam, he assumed Wyndam would be prepared for such a thing. George knew they had to come up with something Wyndam wouldn't expect.

Tom then suggested that he steal a car, and grab George and Nina at the hospital, and they just run. That thought is what led George to their current plan.

They still had the money Mitchell had given them, and George still had the keys to the Volvo. George wanted to pretend to make a run for it. He would find a way to get to the docks and the Volvo, and pull as many vampires with him as possible. If he could get to the car, he could lead them on a chase outside the city, toward the airport and west. While he did so, Annie could get Nina to Tom, who would be waiting with a car, and then Tom could get Nina out of the city heading east. It was still a rough idea, but was coming together in George's mind.

George, Nina and Annie were in the house again, still writing things down, not discussing plans out loud. Annie was going to meet Tom at the Church the following morning, and discuss where she and Nina would meet him.

Nina was insisting that it be Tom, not George, to try to distract the vampires, and that George leave the city with her.

_No! _George was scribbling furiously on the notepad_. Tom unknown to them, they won't look for him, advantage he can use to help you, _he argued. _ And when they see it's me on the move, more will follow. It's the best way! Annie can make sure the way it clear, and help you get to Tom!_

_No, _Nina wrote, shaking her head._ Won't leave you, George. No way. If they catch you, they'll kill you! Won't do it! _Nina had tears in her eyes.

"_They will not catch me! Promise! I know what I'm doing, Nina. I have to make sure you are safe! _George smiled at her reassuringly. _Once Annie lets me know you're out of the city, I am right behind you! _

_How will you get away from them? _Annie asked George.

_Will lose them at the Park, where Tom's been hiding. Enough people, places to hide. Will work fine._

_No. Not splitting up! _Nina was emphatic. _Worst thing to do. Have to stay together!_

_Can't, Nina. _George told her. _If you don't get away, there is no point to anything. _Nina grabbed George's hand, and squeezed it.

_Once they get to the car, I'll find you, _Annie wrote to George. _Help you. _George was shaking his head.

_No, stay with Nina, _he wrote_. Needs you._

_No! _Nina was angry. _Only way I'll agree is if she comes back to help you! _George looked at Nina and smiled. God, he loved her! He squeezed her arm.

_OK! But ONLY when you are out of the city! _He finally agreed.

_What route? _Nina asked. George shook his head, not understanding her question. _What roads to lead them away, so Annie can find you?_

_Not sure, see what happens. _George told her._ Will go to docks, toward M's car, use it if I can. Only places I know for sure – there and the Park. _Nina was shaking her head, wanting a specific place Annie could find him, to help him.

_Nina, I don't know, _George told her_. Have to see who follows, where they come from. Figure as I go!_

_House of mirrors_, Annie wrote._ On west edge of Park, shed next to it. Meet there. _George nodded in agreement.

Nina was still shaking her head, but realized George was right. There was no way to know where the vampires would come from, so he'd have to do this as they came after him. All the more why she didn't like the idea, but none of them had a better one.

Annie would meet with Tom tomorrow, and let him know exactly what they needed him to do. They all agreed that Sunday would be the best day to do this, in late afternoon. That would give Tom a few days to find a car and plan a route out of Barry. Hopefully, there would also be the least amount of traffic and people to get in the way on Sunday afternoon. This would also give George a few more days to figure out the best way to get from the house to the Park, and still make sure the vampires were following him. He had an idea on how he was going to do this, but didn't want to tell Nina. She wouldn't like it, and he didn't want to upset her further.

George was trying very hard not to let Nina see what he was thinking about the entire situation. He knew if he didn't get her out of the city now, he never would. That was his sole focus - getting her safely out of the city. He really didn't expect to get away himself, and knew that if caught, Wyndam would kill him, or worse. But he also knew that Tom and Annie would take care of Nina and the baby. That's what was important. He kept telling himself that.

If by some chance he survived this, and Tom was able to get Nina to safety, he didn't know how he'd survive without Nina. None of the others had realized that George would have to stay away from Nina. If he did survive this, Wyndam would look for the two of them, together, thinking George would never leave Nina. But Tom had changed that, and George knew he would leave Nina in Tom's care, and he wouldn't try to find her. He wouldn't risk leading Wyndam to Nina and the baby. As long as Nina was safe, he'd find a way to survive without her, and hope that one day, they could be together again. He kept telling himself that he could handle whatever was coming, as long as Nina was safe.

In the darkest moments, when he thought about losing Nina and it was too overwhelming, he wished Mitchell were here to help him.

oooooooooo

"Páidí, listen," Mitchell said, travel bag in hand, as he and Padraig walked down the hallway to the elevator. "That favor I asked you for the other night, I…"

"What favor?" Padraig interrupted, looking puzzled. "You didn't ask for a favor."

"Páidí, yes, I did. When I was angry about them being able to control us, getting into our heads, I asked you to…"

"Ahh, no, sorry mate, no favors. Just beer!" Padraig laughed.

"Seriously, Páidí," Mitchell smiled. "I know I told you..."

"Seriously, Mitchell, I don't remember you asking me for anything, other than more beer. In fact, I don't remember much except the beer!"

"Padraig, knock it off. I know I put you in a difficu…"

"Mitchell," Padraig stopped, grabbing Mitchell by the arm. "The only thing I remember you asking me for the other night was more beer, and that I got us. Don't remember anythin' else, not even getting back to my room. By the way, did you dump me there?"

"Damn it, Padraig!" Mitchell took a deep breath. "I'm trying to apologize for being an arse and putting you in a…"

"Mitchell," Padraig said softly, "Seriously, you have nothing to apologize for! No, that's wrong. Yes, you do need to apologize!" Padraig said, lowering his head, looking serious. Mitchell nodded in agreement.

"Ok," Padraig continued, "apology accepted for the hangover I had the next day. Okay? Good." Padraig started walking to the elevator, glancing back over his shoulder.

Mitchell frowned, but saw no hint of a lie on Padraig's face.

"Besides," Padraig grinned, "it appears that after I somehow staggered back to my own room, you went for a bit of a walk on your own, didn't ya? And wound up with enough going on in here," he pointed to his head, "to scramble anybody's brain for awhile. Not to mention the eyes. One day, you're gonna have to tell me about these past two days – it's gotta be some story!" With that, he pushed the button to call elevator.

Mitchell still wasn't convinced, and watched as his friend got into the elevator. He really thought he had asked Padraig to do something, something that could lead to severe consequences for his friend…but maybe not. Things were a bit fuzzy, and maybe everything with Wyndam was making him confuse real memories and blood-drunk imagined ones. At this point, though, he believed his friend and shrugged, shaking his head.

"Are you comin' Lassie, or do you wanna find your own way there, too?" Padraig laughed, interrupting Mitchell's thoughts. Mitchell smiled, and got into the elevator.

"Ya know, Páidí-**BOY**," Mitchell laughed, "Ya might wanna re-think calling me that so much, considering how you came by your – how did she put it? Oh yeah – you're oh-so-lovely name! Now **that** would be a story to tell! Hey," Mitchell teased, "I bet Samuel would love to hear about it on the drive!"

"Oh, you wouldn't! Mitchell, if you ever…" Padraig said as the elevator doors shut.

They were still laughing when the doors opened on the lobby floor. Once again, there were several vampires in the lobby. Once again, they all stopped talking as Mitchell and Padraig exited the elevator. Once again, Mitchell tried to ignore them, and walked toward the front door.

But then someone whispered. His name. He stopped, set down his bag, and slowly turned to look at them all. The guilty party had the sense to take a step backward.

"Yes, I'm John Mitchell," he said quietly, taking the time to look directly at each of them, "and I would…suggest…you **not** make a point of pissin' me off." The threat was understood, the other vampires all turned away.

"Jesus, Mitchell!" Padraig whispered. "Still pourin' oil on the fire, aren't ya?"

Mitchell turned back to the door, and, glancing sideways at Padraig, grinned.

_John. _

Mitchell stopped, looking for Wyndam. There, from the open door of the Conference Room, Wyndam was watching him, and smiling. As soon as Mitchell saw him, Wyndam turned and went into the Conference Room, leaving the door open.

"I'll meet you outside," Mitchell told Padraig as he started toward the conference room. After entering the room, he closed the door.

"Hello, John," Wyndam said quietly, smiling. As usual, he was dressed in a dark suit and tie, sitting at the head of the table. He gestured to a chair, for Mitchell to sit.

"Wyndam," Mitchell returned the smile. He did not add the 'Lord' as everyone else did, and never would, such pretense unimportant to him. Wyndam didn't seem to mind that he didn't say it.

"When you get to Barry," Wyndam started, "you will stay out of sight. Lawrence has arranged a place for you. You are clear on what you are to do." It was not a question.

"Yes."

"Use whatever resources are available to you. Lawrence will assist you however you need him to."

"Okay."

"Do you have any questions?" Wyndam was fishing for something.

"No."

"Any doubts?" Wyndam asked.

"No," Mitchell answered steadily.

Wyndam was silent, holding Mitchell's gaze. It took a few moments, but Mitchell understood what Wyndam was really after.

Without hesitation, Mitchell nodded, and waited, holding steady under Wyndam's scrutiny. Mitchell again saw the ice blue eyes focus, and laser into him, and he felt the familiar brushing through his mind. It was not forceful or hurtful this time, but rather searching, verifying, confirming. Mitchell was surprised to find that he didn't have to fight to remain calm, or to open his mind to Wyndam. It was actually quite easy, and that **was** a surprise. He'd thought he would always fight against it.

Mitchell didn't have time to consider this further, though, as he felt Wyndam release his mind. There was a momentary flash of what felt like panic, but then it was gone just as quickly. Mitchell frowned, wondering if he'd imagined it. Wyndam smiled.

"Good," Wyndam said, standing up. Mitchell stood up as well. "Samuel has instructions to follow your orders. I know you two are not…friends, but he is very good at what he does."

"Okay," Mitchell nodded.

"I do expect," Wyndam cautioned, "you and Padraig to behave. Not indulge as you did after killing the reporter. If you want to feed, Lawrence will arrange it."

"Of course," Mitchell answered.

"Good."

Mitchell nodded again, and started for the door.

"John," Wyndam called softly, and Mitchell paused, turning halfway back to Wyndam. "Do not disappoint me."

Mitchell gave him a quick nod. No longer smiling, Wyndam turned his back to Mitchell, ending the conversation.

oooooooooo


	19. Chapter 19

**Once again, Being Human and its characters belong to Toby Whithouse. **

**All reviews and suggestions are most appreciated, and welcome.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>And so, Barry...<strong>

* * *

><p>Saturday morning arrived with sunshine and blue skies, unlike the mood in the house. Nina and George had not slept, and instead, spent the night in each others' arms, just wanting the comfort of knowing the other was there. Thoughts of what lay ahead of them tomorrow, and in the following days, kept them awake, anxious and scared.<p>

They both had no doubt that if their plans failed, Wyndam would follow through on his threats. Nina knew that meant George could very well die, and it was killing her to even think of such a thing. In the dark hours of the past night, she came very close to deciding that she should just do what Wyndam wanted, or find a way to make an arrangement with him. She could not imagine her life without George.

George knew that if they failed, it meant Wyndam would take Nina. He would take her somewhere, and the baby, and then...George couldn't even think the words. So there was no other option. They had to succeed, and Nina had to get out of the city, no matter what happened to him. All that mattered was that Nina get away from the monsters.

Finally giving up on any hope of sleep, they both headed to the kitchen. Annie was already making tea and breakfast.

"Here you go, George," Annie said quietly, handing him a mug of tea. "There's toast on, ready in a minute."

"Thanks, Annie," George said quietly. "Nina, how about we meet for dinner, about 7:30?" They both were working a later shift that day.

"Sure, fine," Nina answered absently, stirring her tea.

_Been thinking,_ Annie wrote to George_. I staked that vampire, Cooper, when he tried to kill Nancy. I think I should do that to Lawrence and all the others. Pop in and just stake them! _She stabbed the air with her closed fist.

George shook his head. _Don't think you're strong enough for all of them, Annie. You might get a few, but if your power fades, they come after Nina. Too risky._

_But I'm even stronger than when I killed Cooper. I think it's worth a try._

George looked at Nina, silently asking her opinion. After a few moments, Nina shrugged, and nodded. George sat down, considering what Annie was proposing.

_No, _George finally shook his head. _Too risky. _He held up his hand when Annie started to reach for the notepad. _Let's see what happens tomorrow. This is Plan B, okay? _

Annie was not convinced, and shook her head, but George wouldn't give her the notepad.

_Just think about it. Talk more tonight, _he told her, and Annie finally nodded.

Annie was meeting Tom at noon, to finalize where she and Nina would meet him the next day. It was still some time before noon, so after the tea, and uneaten toast, she and Nina went upstairs and packed a few things into a backpack. Annie didn't say much, and Nina alternated between picking out clothes, and wiping away tears. It was a slow process.

George pulled the money from under the loose board in the attic, and they packed that as well. They didn't pack much else, knowing things would happen very fast tomorrow, and Nina and Annie would have to move quickly.

Annie gave Nina and George both a long hug before leaving to meet Tom. None of them said anything, but they all wiped their eyes.

George insisted Nina pack some personal items, but there was not much she wanted to take. Eventually, they stopped packing, and moved quietly about the house, getting ready for work. Neither wanted to go to the hospital, but knew they had to keep the routine, and keep things looking normal. Well, as normal as possible with vampires watching your every move.

When George and Nina left the house, four vampires were waiting for them, to once again, follow them. George hoped the bright sun was painful to them, despite the sunglasses and hats they all wore. The vampires were more vocal than usual, even laughing several times. George didn't like it, but bit his tongue and stayed silent.

Once at hospital, one of the vampires left the group, one followed George, and two continued to follow Nina. Nina tried several times to go into areas where the vampires couldn't enter, but when she came out, they were always waiting, and smiling at her. After a few hours of this, Nina was very nervous. The vampires would stare at her, and then smile, and snicker, and…grin at her, like evil Cheshire cats, just waiting to pounce. Nina felt as though she were being hunted.

It upset her so much that at the first chance, she found George. Of course, her vampire escort followed her. There was still only one vampire trailing George, and it was not Willie. This one, though, was behaving like the others. He was smiling. When the vampires all saw each other, they chuckled. George didn't know which made him more nervous – Willie being gone, or the smiling vampires.

Wanting to talk, George and Nina hurried to the hospital chapel, vampires trailing them as usual. Going to the farthest corner in the chapel, they lowered their heads to whisper.

"Something's up," Nina whispered. George gave a slight nod.

"What do we do?" Nina asked.

"We're leaving," George told her. "Finish what you have to, and tell your super you're sick. Meet me in A&E, and we'll call a taxi."

"I'm really scared, George."

"I know," George said, taking her hand. "But we'll get through this, I promise. And this time tomorrow, we'll be away from all this." He squeezed her hand, and they walked to the chapel entrance.

"Said a nice prayer for you boys," George taunted the vampires that were waiting outside the doorway. "Perhaps you'd like to light a candle for each other? Or perhaps," he said, dipping his fingers in the font, "a nice blessing with some holy water?" He flicked the water at the vampires. They all jumped back, hissing at him. Now it was George's turn to smile.

"Yeah, you won't be smiling much longer, dog!" Willie said, coming round toward them. He'd finally shown up.

"Willie! Shut up!" another vampire warned, this one dressed in a suit. He had come in with Willie, but George didn't recognize this one.

"Just having some fun, Samuel," Willie chuckled, but said no more. The other vampires remained silent.

George and Nina quickly finished what they needed to, and met in A&E. A usual Saturday evening, especially after dark, A&E was very busy. Tonight, that gave George a bit of relief. It meant there were more people about while they waited for the taxi, and it forced the vampires to stay further away from them. Completely knackered, Nina sat in one of the waiting chairs, trying not to show George how upset she was.

George did see the vampire named Samuel talking softly on a mobile, and tried to get close enough to hear what was being said, but couldn't. He didn't want to step too far away from Nina. As it was, his senses were on alert, and his adrenaline had kicked in.

The taxi finally arrived, and George and Nina hurried out and got in. Nina slid into the back seat behind the driver, and George went around to the other side, climbing in next to Nina. After giving the driver the address, George looked out the back window, watching the vampires behind them. As the car pulled away, the vampires did not move. They did not follow the car, and instead, they stayed outside the hospital, but were laughing and slapping each other on the back. Samuel ended his telephone call and simply watched the car drive away. Willie smiled and waved to George. George's stomach dropped, and heart began to race.

As they drew closer to the house, George could not shake the feeling that they were in real danger, right now. The behavior, and attitude, of the vampires was so different, so confident and arrogant, he knew something was about to happen. He had to assume it was directed at Nina. As the vampires weren't following them, George was afraid they'd be waiting at the house. Waiting for what, he didn't know, and tonight, he didn't want to find out.

"No, we've changed our mind," he told the driver. "Take us to the Best Western Hotel, Porthkerry Rd." Nina looked at George, questioning, and he shook his head, gesturing toward the back window. She understood, and nodded.

"Okay," the driver said, taking a left turn. They rode in silence for a several minutes, George checking the rear window every few seconds. Nina kept checking the side windows. They had just passed through a cross street when she grabbed George's arm.

"George, we just went past Windsor," Nina whispered. "Shouldn't we have turned there?" George looked out his window, but it was too dark to see what street they were on. He believed her, though, and all his senses screamed at him to get her out of the car.

"Actually, just stop here," he told the driver. "We'll walk the rest of the way."

"We're almost there," the driver told him. "Some road repairs going on, so have to take it a bit round-about."

"No, that's okay. Just stop. Now," George told him. The driver paid no attention, and didn't answer George. "Hey, stop the car!" George said, reaching forward to touch the driver on the shoulder.

The driver suddenly turned to look at them, and hissed loudly, his eyes shiny black and fangs showing. George pushed back into the seat for a moment, and then reached for his backpack and the wooden stake he now always carried. Nina gasped, and clutched at the door handle on her right. Before George could get a solid hold on the stake, the driver stomped on the brakes, and the car skidded to a halt. George and Nina fell forward, slamming into the seats in front of them. George grabbed Nina and stopped her from falling onto the car floor, but had to drop the stake to do so. Before the car had completely stopped moving, the rear doors on either side of the car were yanked open.

Someone reached into the car from the left side, and grabbed George, trying to drag him from the car. He struggled against his attacker, but it had little effect, and he was forcibly pulled out of the car.

"George!" Nina screamed, reaching for him, but a vampire climbed into the car through the open right door and grabbed hold of her, pushing her down into the middle of the seat.

"Nina!" George shouted as he was thrown onto the road. His attacker jumped into the car where George had been sitting, and the car sped off before both doors slammed shut. George heard Nina screaming for him.

"Nina!" George roared, pushing to his feet to go after the car. Two vampires stood in the road, blocking his way. They tried to grab him, but he charged forward and broke through them, running after the car as it sped toward the corner to take a left turn. Still shouting Nina's name, George leapt onto the pavement, scrambling to cut the corner and catch the car. As he rounded the corner, something hard hit him in the chest, knocking the breath from him, and flattening him to the pavement. As he lay there, trying to breathe, George looked up to see Samuel lowering his outstretched arm.

George rolled onto his side, trying to catch his breath, gasping for air. It was several moments before the oxygen made it through to his lungs, and he was able to breathe again. By the time he recovered enough to move, the other two vampires had caught up to him. One of them was Willie. George had no time to wonder how Willie had gotten there so fast.

"Get up, dog!" Willie said, grabbing George and pulling him to his feet. "Boss says hi!" Willie taunted, and as he did so, he punched George in the stomach. George doubled over, the breath again knocked from him.

"Willie!" Samuel hissed. "Knock it off! He's not to be hurt!"

As George recovered from the punch, he straightened up with his hands clenched into fists, aiming for Willie's face and as many vampires as he could reach. He landed several blows, and was rewarded when he heard Willie yelp in pain. He was almost free of them when pain exploded in the back of his head. Crumpling in a heap, he was unconscious before he hit the pavement.

ooooooooo


	20. Chapter 20

**I know this chapter is quite long, but it did not lend itself to a chapter break. I hope you enjoy. **

**Reviews, comments and thoughts, (good, bad or raging), will be most appreciated. After all, Wyndam has been raging at me for some time now. :)  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Barry is bringing to light some of the Consequences created by that night, when Wyndam stopped George...<strong>

* * *

><p>George slowly opened his eyes. He was lying on his back, and his head hurt. He tried to focus on what he was seeing, but it wasn't working very well. His head really hurt, and he groaned as he tried to look around. Slowly rolling over, he shut his eyes tight, and then opened them to clearer vision. He wished he hadn't. Too familiar surroundings came into focus. He was inside the fighting cage. From that night when he thought Nina was…<p>

"What the hell?" he said out loud, climbing to his feet.

"'Bout time you woke up, dog!" Willie sauntered out of the shadows by the steps, a bloodied club in his hand.

"What the hell is this, Willie!" George growled, as he felt the back of his head. His hand came away bloody.

"Just a quick stop for you, puppy. Boss wants to talk to you, before you…." Willie laughed, tapping the club into his palm.

"Where the hell is Nina?" George demanded, but Willie just shrugged. "Let me out of here!" Willie laughed again.

Walking away from George, Willie sat down on the top step, and continued to tap the club into his hand. When George rattled the cage again, Willie laughed, and started whistling, the old children's tune about the price of a doggie in the window.

"Willie, tell me where Nina is!" George demanded, trying to regain some calm. Willie ignored him and continued to whistle.

George grabbed the door of the cage and tried to pull it open, but it was locked tight. Looking for any way out, George started walking around the cage, testing the wire, pulling and tugging, trying to find a weak spot. He was halfway round the cage when he heard a commotion behind him, at the steps, and he turned to see someone pull Willie off the step, and throw him through the door and out of the room.

"I told you not to hurt him, you fucking arse!" someone yelled. "Give me the key, and get outta here! Don't come back until I tell you!"

George strained to see who it was, the lighting by the steps too poor to show the person. A man slowly walked down the steps, followed by two others. As he came closer to the light, George held his breath, daring to hope.

"Mitchell?" George whispered. It looked like Mitchell, same hair, same walk, a leather jacket. "Mitchell, is that you?"

"Hello, George," Mitchell answered quietly, as he came fully into the light, and walked toward the cage. George wrapped his fingers around the wire.

"Mitchell, thank God! Get me out of here!"

"No."

"They have Nina, we have to find her! What?" George knew he hadn't heard correctly. "Mitchell, come on, get me out of here! We have to find Nina!"

"Not gonna happen, George," Mitchell said, shaking his head and stopping in front of George.

"What the hell does that mean?" George demanded. "Get me out of here!" Mitchell only shook his head.

"Mitchell, what's going on?" George asked warily.

"I think you know. I'm sorry, George, but I can't have you getting in the way."

"What the hell does that mean?" George asked again.

"Come on, George," Mitchell said, smiling again. "You know what we want."

"We? Who the hell is 'we'? Mitchell, they've got Nina, and…" George stopped, and finally looked closely at the two vampires that were with Mitchell. George didn't know the dark haired one, but the other was Samuel.

"Yes," Mitchell said, nodding as he saw understanding come into George's eyes.

"No," George whispered, "it can't be."

"Yes, it can, George. It is."

"I don't believe you. You wouldn't." George was the one shaking his head now.

"Yes, I would," Mitchell said softly, stepping in close to the cage, deliberately looking George in the eye. Then he waited. It didn't take long.

"Mitchell, you can't have been par…what…what's with…oh my God!" George sucked in his breath as he saw Mitchell's eyes, and understanding came to him. Involuntarily, George took a step back.

"Hello, George," Mitchell said again, smiling.

George didn't know what to say. Anger flashed through him as he now realized what Mitchell meant, what Mitchell wanted. He stepped back to the cage door, and gripped the wire with his fingers. He refused to believe it. This was Mitchell. Mitchell wouldn't do this.

"Mitchell, it's me. It's George. You are my friend. You will not take Nina and my child from me," George told him steadily, trying to see something other than darkness in Mitchell's eyes.

"I know it's you, George, but we've never really met. My name is John, and I'm a vampire," Mitchell said, grinning. Mitchell glanced at Samuel, who pulled a chair over near the cage door so Mitchell could sit down.

"So you're the new boss, is that it? Wyndam's attack dog?"

"Something like that. I'm not your friend, George," Mitchell said quietly, no longer grinning. "Not anymore. And I will take whatever I want."

"Mitchell, no!" George shouted, rattling the cage door. "I won't let you do this! I will kill you first!"

"Says the dog in the cage," Mitchell taunted.

"Mitchell, I am warning you. Do not do this. I will hunt you down!"

"No, you won't, George. You'll stay here, and live. That way, Nina, and the baby, will live. I tried to tell you on the phone that night. You can live, you just have to do it our way."

"On the phone….but you were trying to warn me. The pub in Bristol, we were in trouble that night and you pretended to be…" George stopped as understanding came to him again. His jaw clenched in anger. "The phone call was an act. You were pretending to be…you weren't in trouble at all. You weren't telling me to get out of the city. You were trying to get me to do what Wyndam wanted…to think if I didn't, you would be…you used our friendship? And me? For Wyndam?" George asked, not wanting to believe it.

"And the penny drops! And here you are!" Mitchell laughed, and then turned to Samuel.

"I'll expect that bottle of whiskey when I get back, Samuel," he told Samuel. Samuel nodded.

"What the hell are you talking about Mitchell?" George asked.

"Padraig, care to explain?" Mitchell said with a grin.

"Hiya, George, I'm Padraig," the dark haired vampire said, his Irish accent making him sound friendly. "Mitchell said you'd believe him, and think the phone call was telling you that even though you needed to get out of town, if you did, Mitchell would pay the price. He said you wouldn't leave, not yet, because of that. Samuel thought you'd figure out that the call was a set up by Wyndam, and try to run, right away."

"Lord Wyndam to you, Padraig," Samuel scolded. Padraig nodded.

"Long story short, Mitchell was right. Samuel owes him a bottle of Ireland's finest!" Padraig laughed. "Which of course, he will share with his very good friend and countryman!" Mitchell joined in the laughter.

"You played me, played on our friendship?" George was angry now. "And now you're laughing about it? It was all a **lie**!" George spit out the last word. "And you **bet** on it? What the fuck is wrong with you, Mitchell?"

"Well," Mitchell said contritely, "we didn't make the bet until, what was it, Thursday, when we were on our way here."

Samuel and Padraig chuckled. George clenched his teeth, seething with anger.

"Was it all a lie?" Mitchell asked, and then shook his head. "No, George, not all of it. It is true that you would've been okay, if you'd just let things be, if you'd listened to Wyndam. That's what I was trying to tell you on the phone. But now," Mitchell shook his head again, "now, Nina and the child will stay with us, for awhile, until we see what it is. I can promise you that they won't be harmed," Mitchell paused, looking at George intently, "**if** you do as you're told. But they will stay with us. And you get to live. We may even return Nina to you."

"Mitchell, that's not what..." Samuel started, but stopped at the sharp glance from Mitchell.

"Why? Why are you doing this?" George asked him.

"Because Wyndam wants it," Mitchell said simply.

"Because…" The shock showed on George's face, and he could not speak for several moments, his mouth opening and closing several times.

"Wyndam?" he finally spit out. "This is about Wyndam? What the fuck is wrong…? Mitchell, he is completely mad, and…and…and worse than Herrick!" George shouted at him.

"No, George, he's not," Mitchell answered softly.

"This is not you, Mitchell," George countered, taking a deep breath and trying to reason with his friend. "This is what you fought against every day. You spent years, decades, fighting against this. I refuse to believe that in just a few weeks, you've turned into this!"

"You couldn't possibly understand, George. I didn't 'turn' into anything. This is what I am."

"What happened to you, Mitchell?" George asked him for a second time in the past few weeks.

"I told you, the vampire gene is strong, and it finds a way to survive. It won a long time ago – 1917, to be exact, and now, I'm cool with that. I've got it all sorted now."

"Yeah, okay, I see. So a few weeks with Wyndam, and you throw away all the years of trying, all the years of being better than them, is that it?"

Mitchell smiled, patiently.

"Now who's pathetic?" George growled, disgust in his voice.

"You know nothing about this, George. You've no idea how complicated this is. But that doesn't matter. What matters now," Mitchell said, standing up, and slowly walking along the cage, "is whether you live or die."

"What do you mean?"

Mitchell stopped and turned back to look at George.

"I'm supposed to kill you."

George said nothing for long moments, and then slowly nodded.

"I see. And as Wyndam's pet attack dog, you do whatever tricks he tells you to, is that it?"

"Bit more complicated than that," Mitchell told him calmly. "But, back to you. I'm inclined to let you live, George."

"Mitchell, that's not an…" Samuel started, warning in his voice.

"Samuel," Mitchell said quietly through clenched teeth, cutting him off, "if you interrupt me once more, I will finish you, orders from Wyndam be damned! Am I clear?" There was no answer from Samuel.

"I said, am I clear?" Mitchell shouted, wheeling to glare at Samuel. Samuel nodded.

"Good! Now get the hell outta here! Tell Willie to find a towel or something for George. I can smell the blood on the back of his head, and it's disgusting!"

"Mitchell…" Samuel started, but stopped, seeing the look on Mitchell's face. Holding his hands up, Samuel took a step back.

"And call Lawrence, make sure things are set with Nina, and then you can go," Mitchell ordered.

"Where's Nina?" George gripped the cage even tighter. "Set for what? Where the hell is she? You can't do this! Mitchell!"

"Tell Wyndam I'll finish things up here," Mitchell told Samuel, ignoring George, "and then I'll wait for him there. Padraig, you stay with me."

With a curt nod, Samuel left, and could be heard telling Willie to find something for the dog to clean up with.

"Mitchell, are you sure about this?" Padraig asked quietly. Mitchell nodded.

"Mitchell, do not do this," George said. "This is not you."

"Oh, George," Mitchell said, shaking his head. "You just don't wanna hear me! This is who I've always been! The John Mitchell you met before was a fake, a pretender. He never belonged with you, with humanity, and now, he's gone. He doesn't live here anymore."

"Please Mitchell, I'm begging you. Do not do this! Do not let them take Nina!" George had tears in his eyes.

"Sorry, George. It has to be this way."

"You do this, and I will find you. I will kill you," George threatened quietly.

"No, you won't George," Mitchell said, looking at him through the wire. "If you try, Nina dies. It's that simple."

George clenched his teeth. Mitchell nodded, holding George's angry gaze.

"I know, it's hard," Mitchell told him. "I get that. But I will promise you that Nina and the baby will be okay, as long as you stay quiet, and don't cause any trouble."

"No," George whispered. "Your boss already 'promised' that, and look where we are!"

"But that was before you started working with Tom," Mitchell said, watching for the surprise on George's face. He was not disappointed.

"George, why did you doubt him?" Mitchell asked, stepping closer and gripping the wire with his fingers. "Why? Why didn't you believe him? Wyndam told you, he knows everything you've been doing since that first night. I tried to tell you about his power, to warn you, even then. But you just didn't listen."

Letting go of the wire, Mitchell started a slow walk along the cage again, fingers trailing along the wire. "This was never gonna end any other way, George. That night Wyndam stopped you, this all became fate. Sealed. You, me, Nina, the baby."

"What about Annie?" George asked quietly. "Is her fate sealed too?"

Mitchell didn't answer, but stopped, head down, fingers no longer moving against the wire. He was completely still for several minutes, not speaking, not moving. Finally, he resumed walking along the cage.

"We're talking about you, George, and whether you live or die," he said, glancing over his left shoulder at George.

"You better kill me now, then," George said quietly, "because I am done listening to vampires. I am done doing what they say, just to stay alive. I will come for you, Mitchell. And for Wyndam. You tell your new boss that!"

Mitchell dropped his eyes, looking away, and walked further along the cage.

_Now, John._ Wyndam whispered in his mind.

Wyndam had ordered him to kill George. Mitchell had argued that George was more valuable alive, to help control Nina, but Wyndam would not hear of it. He didn't want to be bothered with George anymore. Mitchell was determined that George needed to live, to control Nina. He let his thoughts focus again on how valuable George would be, how much easier it would be to control Nina, if George were still alive.

_Wyndam, I know them, this is the better way,_ Mitchell whispered.

"_JOHN!"_ The pain flashed through Mitchell's head, and he bent over, out of breath from its intensity.

"Mitchell, what's going on? Who are you talking to?" George asked, seeing Mitchell whispering. Mitchell straightened up, his palm pressed against his left temple, pain showing on his face.

"Shut up, George," he snapped. Padraig moved closer to Mitchell, but Mitchell waved him off. George looked at Padraig, but Padraig shook his head and put a finger to his lips, telling George to be quiet.

_John, you know what you have to do._

"Wyndam," Mitchell shook his head, "I'm trying to tell you what will work. You sent me here because I know them. This is the better way!"

_Do not fight me, John. _Mitchell shut his eyes against the new wave of pain that flooded into his head, and he tried to brace against it.

_NO! _ Wyndam's voice roared in his head, and the pain spread throughout his entire body. Mitchell grabbed onto the cage with both hands, hanging on, hissing, eyes shut tight against the pain. As the pain coursed through him, he raised his head and turned to look at George, and started back toward the cage door. George took a step back. Mitchell's fangs were showing, and his eyes were solid shiny black and focused only on George.

"Mitchell!" Padraig hissed. "Mitchell!" he called louder, distracting Mitchell.

Mitchell stopped, looking at Padraig. Padraig slowly shook his head. After a few moments, Mitchell looked back to George and didn't move. Another sharp wave of pain flooded through him and he hissed again, and moved quickly to the cage door, digging into his pocket for the key Willie had given him.

Padraig took two steps toward Mitchell. Mitchell's eyes snapped back to Padraig and Mitchell hissed a warning at him. Padraig walked slowly toward Mitchell, hands held low, palms up.

"Mitchell, think," Padraig told him softly. "Think about what you're doing. Think about what you told me." Mitchell hissed again, taking a menacing step toward Padraig. Padraig froze, slowly shaking his head.

Mitchell turned back to the cage door, putting the key into the lock. Head down, eyes on George, he was focused on getting into the cage and killing George.

Padraig snapped his fingers, loudly, and Mitchell spun round to face him, ready to attack, shaking with a need to kill.

"Mitchell, no," Padraig whispered, and again shook his head. "Don't Lassie. Think. Remember. Remember. Lassie." Padraig said each word slowly, separately, trying to get through to Mitchell.

Mitchell didn't move for several long moments. Head down, fighting the pain coursing through him, his hands were clenched into fists, his chest heaving with effort. A battle raged through him, and his body shook with its' intensity. Finally, Mitchell roared, and took a deep breath, shaking his head. Spinning away from Padraig and the cage entrance, he stumbled back along the side of the cage, away from George. Padraig moved quickly to the door and removed the key from the lock.

George had backed up into the middle of the cage, preparing himself for a fight, a fight he knew he'd probably lose with Mitchell in this state. Now he looked at Padraig for an explanation, but Padraig just shook his head, and motioned for George to stay quiet.

"I am not fighting you, Wyndam!" Mitchell hissed. "This is how to control them both! Let me show you!"

Mitchell doubled over as a new jolt of pain flooded through him, but he forced himself to open his mind to Wyndam. He focused on his memories of George and Nina, on their love for each other, on their bond, showing Wyndam how the only way to control each of them was through the other. He felt Wyndam sift through the images, and see the relationship between George and Nina. Finally, he felt Wyndam relax the hold on his mind.

_Very well, John. For now._ There was warning in the tone, but the pain ceased. Mitchell grabbed onto the wire of the cage, and opened his eyes, drawing deep ragged breaths.

"What the hell was that, Mitchell?" George asked. Mitchell didn't answer. "Mitchell? Are you okay?"

"Shut up, George!" Padraig warned.

"No!" George insisted. "What was that? Mitchell?"

"Part of the….complication," Padraig answered. Mitchell was still bent over, rubbing his temples.

"Mitchell, I can help you," George bargained. "Whatever Wyndam has done to you, I'll help you and we'll fix this. I'll help you fight him. Just let me out of here and let's go get Nina!"

"I don't need help, George," Mitchell said, straightening up, "from you or anyone else." Mitchell looked pointedly at Padraig, but Padraig just shrugged.

"Yeah, obviously," George's tone was sarcastic. "Mitchell, you're in pain, let me help you. Whatever he is doing to you, I'll help you get away from it!"

"George, you really don't wanna get this, do you? Jesus, I thought you were smart, George! You can't help me, because I don't **want** your help! Because **this **is what I am, and this is what I want."

"I don't believe you, Mitchell." George argued with him. "You never wanted this. You hated this. Whatever Wyndam has done to you, told you, it's not who you are. Who you are is the Mitchell that begged me to kill him, so he wouldn't hurt anyone else. I refuse to believe **that** Mitchell is gone."

"And that's why you're in the cage, George," Mitchell said softly. "You won't believe that the monsters are monsters. You insist on believing that because we were human once, we can be human again. You're wrong. There is no being human. Not anymore." Mitchell paused, looking George in the eye. "Not when we can be so much more."

Mitchell was again staring at him with those black-blue eyes, but George saw only darkness in them. No compassion, no sympathy, no humanity. All he saw was a vampire.

"Mitchell, what has he done to you?" George whispered.

"So," Mitchell said, smiling now, ignoring George's question. "Here's what's going to happen, George. You're going to stay here," Mitchell gestured to the cage, "for a few days. Willie will provide you with food and water, and make sure that you're not hurt. Then you'll be released, free to go home. Nina will be with us, and safe."

"No." George said it quietly.

"Yes, George, this is how it has to be," Mitchell told him coldly. "Padraig is going to give you a mobile. You won't be able to call out on it, and it will only take our call. I'll try, every so often, to let you know how Nina is. You may even get to talk to her, if you behave yourself. Just don't do anything stupid, George. And stay away from Tom. He's fair game for any vampire."

"Mitchell, do not do this. If you ever loved me as a friend, do not do this."

"I'm sorry, George," Mitchell smiled at his own words. "It has to be this way." George blanched at the coldness in Mitchell. Seeing this reaction, Mitchell laughed softly, and turned away, starting toward the steps.

"John," George called after him softly. Mitchell stopped and looked back to him. When George didn't continue, Mitchell returned to the cage, waiting. George put his arms down to his side.

"Whatever you want from me," George told him, "I'll do it. Whatever your boss wants, I'll do it. Just let Nina go. Please."

Mitchell was quiet for several moments, looking at George, seeing the sadness in George's eyes. Sighing heavily, he shook his head at George.

"I can't, George," Mitchell said softly. "You're not the one who's pregnant. But I will talk to Wyndam about…your offer." Mitchell smiled, and motioned to Padraig.

Padraig moved toward the cage, holding out a mobile phone, and offered it to George through the wire. George didn't take it, and just glared at Mitchell with hatred.

"Hate me all you want, George, but take it," Mitchell whispered. When George made no move to do so, Padraig bent down, and pushed it under the cage door.

"You're really gonna want that, George," Mitchell told him.

"Mitchell…" George growled.

"It has to be this way, George. I'm sorry you can't understand this. Maybe one day you will." Mitchell turned and started toward the steps, following Padraig.

"Oh, shit," Padraig said, turning around.

"What?" Mitchell asked.

"I forgot the damn charger!" Padraig groused, annoyance in his voice. He turned back toward the cage. "You go on, tell Willie what you want him to do, and I'll catch up."

Mitchell nodded, throwing George one last look.

"Goodbye, George," he said, and then jogged up the steps and out of the room.

"Mitchell!" George roared, gripping the wire and shaking the cage. Mitchell didn't answer.

oooooooooo

"George, listen to me!" Padraig said quietly, rushing to the cage door. "Shut up!" he said, when George screamed Mitchell's name again. "Listen! Someone is coming to help you!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" George asked loudly.

"Will you shut up!" Padraig warned. "Listen to me, someone is coming to help you."

"Go to hell!"

"Shut the fuck up, you stupid dog! Help is coming. Mitchell arranged it before Wyndam got to him."

"Yeah, we know about her. She's dead," George said flatly.

"No, not Madelaine. Someone else. He's one of us, and knows Mitchell, and says he knows you."

"I don't believe you."

"Yeah, well," Padraig told him, "I don't usually believe it when I get cryptic phone calls in the middle of the night, but this guy knew things only Mitchell could have told him. He's the one who told me Mitchell was in trouble. So I believe him. He's here, and somehow knows what's going on. He's going to help you, George."

"A vampire is going to help," George rolled his eyes. "Yeah, now I really believe you."

"Yeah, that's what I figured," Padraig whispered, rushing through his words. "Maybe you can trust this. Remember the day he picked you up, after a full moon. He said you had on a frilly shirt, and he called you Lassie. Remember?" George nodded slowly.

"You just heard what I said to him, to snap him out of the killing need. It's all tied together. He had your back that day, and now he's trying to save your damn life." Padraig paused, and looked George in the eye.

"But George, he talked about this before Wyndam did this to him…before his eyes changed. You understand?" George nodded again.

"He doesn't know I'm doing this, doesn't…remember what he told me, or asked me. He's convinced himself that it's better for Wyndam if you stay alive. On some level, he doesn't want to hurt any of you, no matter how much Wyndam controls him, but now he has no choice." Padraig glanced over his shoulder, looking for Mitchell or Willie.

"What do you mean, controls him?" George asked skeptically.

"That complication. It's a consequence of what Wyndam has done to him. Wyndam has remade him, and can…he's tied to Wyndam, up here," Padraig pointed to his head, "and Wyndam can inflict…well, what you saw was nothing of what Wyndam can do. I don't know how he's managed to get round this with Wyndam, or how he's got it sorted," Padraig shook his head, "but it's gonna fall apart eventually."

"He was telling you the truth, George" Padraig whispered, "he was ordered to kill you. He didn't, and will be punished brutally for it. Wyndam does not like to be disobeyed, and will not let this go. You should know that Mitchell may very well die for this."

Padraig nodded at George's shocked look.

"You've no idea who Wyndam is, and how powerful and brutal he is. I don't think he'll let you live for long, George, regardless of Mitchell. So you have to move fast." Padraig dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out the phone charger and a crumpled piece of paper.

Here," Padraig said, pushing both through the wire. "This is where Nina is for the next couple hours. You must get to her before she's out of Barry. I don't know if he's taking her to Bristol, or somewhere else." Padraig turned to leave, but stopped, and looked back at George. "I can't help you anymore, George. If ordered to do so, I will kill you."

"Just like a good little vampire," George said with anger. He was tired of being threatened.

"George, be careful, of Mitchell," Padraig warned. "You don't know this Mitchell. He was telling you the truth on that, too. He came very close to killing you just now. I still don't know how he was able to stop himself, to fight Wyndam, or why Wyndam allowed this, you, staying alive. Don't expect Mitchell to be anything but a vampire, a dangerous, powerful vampire. Right now, if it comes down to it, Wyndam can make him kill you, and Mitchell would do it with pleasure."

"Why should I believe you?" George asked. "Why should I believe anything you say?"

"Because I've been where he is right now," Padraig frowned. "What Wyndam has done to him, it's a dangerous time for him. There are few of us that have survived it. And I owe him. But mostly," Padraig said quietly, "because he called you Lassie. If the day ever comes that you can, ask him why I started to call him that, and you'll understand." Padraig heard sounds coming from the doorway.

"Padraig! Let's go!" Mitchell yelled from beyond the doorway.

"Good luck, George," Padraig said, turning away.

As Padraig started up the stairs, a very annoyed and bloodied Willie came back in with a towel in hand.

"Yeah, I know, Willie, it's a dog!" Padraig said with disgust. "But apparently he has some value to Wyndam, so best treat him right."

Willie nodded and walked toward the cage to give George the towel.

ooooooooo

George tried to force the cage door open, but it was useless. Willie laughed, but said nothing more.

Sliding down to the floor, George held the towel to the back of his head. He would kill for an aspirin right now.

What was he going to do? How was he going to save Nina? He knew the address on the paper Padraig gave him, but he had no idea if he could trust it.

He was so angry. He concentrated on his anger, his hatred for Wyndam, and let it turn in his stomach. Hands clenched into fists, he vowed that not only would he find Nina, he was going to kill Wyndam. And if need be, Mitchell.

He tried whispering for Annie, but she did not appear.

He didn't want to trust this Padraig, but at the moment, he had no choice. He did remember that day Mitchell called him Lassie, and Mitchell did help him. Now, he didn't even feel like that George that st on the curb. He felt like it had been someone else that day. It all seemed several lifetimes ago. What they had at that time was good, and human. Now, there was this, and it was a living nightmare.

With Mitchell back to them, back to drinking blood, and this…whatever it was that Wyndam was using to control Mitchell, George couldn't trust what anyone said. He didn't know whether this was a real offer of help from Padraig, or just another set up. One that could get him killed.

He'd never seen Mitchell this way. Oh, he'd seen Mitchell blood drunk, and had seen his eyes black from it, most recently just after the Box Tunnel murders. Mitchell was obnoxious then, insulting, threatening, but still Mitchell, still aware of George and Annie and still trying to protect them. Eventually, the human Mitchell had come back.

But now, these black-blue eyes were filled with darkness, with a coldness that was new, and so...vampire, so…devoid of anything human. It was as though Mitchell was just a shell surrounding blackness. George knew he had to accept, for now, that Mitchell was gone, and in his place, a true monster existed.

A monster that had taken Nina.

ooooooooo


	21. Chapter 21

**Being Human belongs to Toby Whithouse. I'm just enjoying his world for a bit.**

* * *

><p><strong>Seems Barry is still at it...<strong>

* * *

><p>Mitchell was silent, head down and eyes closed against the pounding in his temples. He and Padraig were in the car, Padraig driving. Samuel had gone on ahead, as Mitchell had ordered.<p>

"You all right, mate?" Padraig finally asked.

"Yeah," Mitchell nodded, rubbing his eyes. "No. Shit. I need to feed, Padraig."

"Not yet, mate," Padraig told him. "You need to finish this first." Mitchell didn't answer him. "Some of the pain stays for awhile," Padraig continued, "a consequence of not doing what they want. But it will go away. Just focus on what you have to do, then we'll both go feed, make a night of it again!"

"He's gotta be so pissed off, Páidí," Mitchell said, shaking his head. "Last thing he said to me in Bristol was not to disappoint him." Mitchell blew out a quick breath. "Yeah, right. Shit."

"He's gonna be angry, no doubt about that. But you did it to help him. Eventually he'll understand that."

"Uh huh, sure. What do you think he'll do?"

"Depends," Padraig said carefully. "Depends on how big it is to him."

"Come on, Páidí, just answer the fucking question!" Mitchell snapped.

"I don't know, Mitchell. It's Wyndam." Padraig shrugged. "Who knows with him? From what I hear, Lawrence is the only other one he's done this to. No one ever knows how Wyndam will react to anything. That's part of what's kept him in power for so long. I think the others are a bit afraid of him."

"You shouldn't have helped me, then. This is not your responsibility. What will Thomas do?" Mitchell asked quietly.

Padraig didn't answer, but Mitchell saw his jaw clench. Licking his lips, Padraig tried to smile.

"No worries, mate," he said lightly, but Mitchell knew it was false. "Wyndam asked me to help you, and that's what I did."

"I'm sorry, Páidí," Mitchell told him. "Seems all I've done is mess things up for you."

"Mitchell, don't worry!" Padraig laughed. "It'll be fine." Padraig glanced sideways at Mitchell. "So what's going on in that thick head of yours, now that you've seen George again?"

Mitchell didn't answer for several moments.

"Part of me wanted to unlock the cage and let him out," he finally said. Padraig nodded.

"How is that possible?" Mitchell asked. "Last week, I came back, completely. I'm cool with being vampire, I've never felt such power and intensity, and I love it. I wanted to come here and do this. To do exactly what Wyndam wanted. But when I saw George, something…" Mitchell stopped.

"Something told you that he was your friend at one time, and you shouldn't kill him," Padraig finished for him. Mitchell nodded.

"How is that possible?" Mitchell asked again. "I thought with this process, once you give in to it, that's it. Done."

"It's not that simple," Padraig told him. "Your humanity has been part of you for over a hundred years, even while being vampire. You think you've wiped it out, had enough blood that it's gone forever, and then something happens and it's screaming in your face and making you think human again."

"Yes! Exactly!" Mitchell agreed, surprised that his friend was telling him this. "But Wyndam said this process would stop that, and I wanted it gone! This past week, I was all in, and I felt brilliant! Now? I don't fucking understand it!" Mitchell raked his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"Then ask yourself this," Padraig said. "What else did you feel when you saw George? One part of you wanted to let him go, what did the other part want?"

"I wanted to rip his head off with my bare hands," Mitchell said, lowering his eyes, looking at his hands as though he'd never seen them before.

Padraig didn't say anything, letting Mitchell sort it for himself.

"Mostly," Mitchell said quietly, "I wanted to rip his head off."

"As it should be," Padraig said, nodding. Mitchell's sharp look was not lost on Padraig. "He's a werewolf, Mitchell, our enemy. You should want to kill him."

"I told him that, once before. That night, when Wyndam stopped him from…." Mitchell paused. "I told him I wanted to pull his spine out through his mouth. Today, I wanted to do that, and then literally rip him to shreds. I wanted to keep killing him over and over, even after he was dead, and…and…it was personal. Not like the rampages in the past, where you just kill everyone in your path. This was **because** it was George, and I wanted it to be violent. Jesus, Páidí, I've never felt such a desire to be so violent, to just….arrrghh! Fuck, I need to feed!" Mitchell clenched his fingers together, trying to control the urge he still felt. He was shaking again.

"I still don't know how you stopped," Padraig said quietly.

"Wyndam was raging in my head, and I was gonna do it, Páidí. I was gonna kill George! I still want to!" Mitchell shook his head, not believing the words that came out of his mouth.

"Hell, I almost killed you," he told Padraig. Eyes closed tightly, he tried to calm the desire to kill something, someone, anyone. Several deep breaths helped, a little. "But you stopped me," he finally said. "And then something let me stop."

"That was Wyndam."

"No, wasn't him. He was still raging in my head demanding that I kill George."

"Trust me, Mitchell," Padraig told him. "It was Wyndam. That's part of what he can do, and part of how he does this. He can tell you to do something at the same time he's letting you **not** do it."

"That's fucking mental!"

"But effective. Look at you. You're still shaking, and you need to kill, and feed." Padraig glanced at Mitchell. "I'm gonna say two words to you. Wyndam's blood."

Mitchell's eyes flashed black and his fangs extended at the thought of Wyndam's blood, and what it held. The hunger overwhelmed him, and his body shook, needing Wyndam's blood. It was all he wanted. He hissed, and grabbed at the dash, hitting it until he finally stopped shaking, and his eyes returned to their new normal.

"Yeah, thought so." Padraig said. "Puts you right where he wants you."

"So what do they want, fucking robots? Mindless fucking zombies that just kill and rampage with no…no….why the fuck do they do this?" Mitchell smashed his hands against the dash again.

"Because they can."

"Yeah, well, it fucking sucks!" Mitchell hissed as the pain behind his eyes would not go away. "I can't do this, Páidí. I'm cool with being vampire, but not like this. Not like a damn chicken on a string."

"Like a what?" Padraig asked, laughing.

"A puppet! That's all we are, puppets on a string!"

"You said chicken. Chicken on a string."

"No, I didn't. This is not the time to fuck with me, Padraig!"

"Seriously, Mitchell. You said chicken on a string. What is that?"

Mitchell didn't answer for a moment, and then let his head fall back against the seat, eyes closed. He felt completely drained.

"Shit. It's what George takes to the woods to keep himself occupied when he's a werewolf. Keeps him away from people."

Padraig laughed out loud, slapping the steering wheel.

"That is too perfect!" he laughed. "Chicken on a string! Holy shit!"

Mitchell started to smile, and then realizing what he'd said, laughed.

"Now there's the Mitchell I remember!" They both laughed for several moments, and Mitchell felt better, most of the pain gone from his eyes.

"I am serious, Páidí. This mind shit is too much. If that's what he wants, then he better just kill me now."

"He won't, Mitchell," Padraig said softly. "I don't know what it is about you, but he's been on to you for a long time. He's not gonna let you die, at least not yet."

"What the hell does he want?" Mitchell asked again, not expecting an answer.

Finally, Mitchell shook his head, knowing that at the moment, there was nothing to be done for it. Not until he could talk to Wyndam face to face. He took a deep breath.

"We need George alive, to control Nina, that much I do know," he finally said. "She may be small, but she is strong, and tenacious, and can be…ferocious. We need George to keep her in line."

"Then that's what you tell him," Padraig said. "You did it to help him."

"He's so pissed off, I don't think it'll matter." Mitchell said with a wry smile. "Hell, he already knows why I did it. He's so far inside my head, I feel like a damn Jekyll and Hyde. I don't know if it's my thought or his anymore."

Padraig just shrugged.

"Why are they letting us talk about this?" Mitchell asked, looking at Padraig. "Last time, you kept getting shut down, and couldn't tell me much. If the goal is to turn us into obedient, mindless vampires, how can we talk about this?"

"That's not the goal, Mitchell. I don't know what Wyndam's plan is for you, but it's not being a mindless vampire. He has plenty of those."

"So, was it this insane for you?" Mitchell asked. "You were always so much stronger than me, Páidí. You left Lianna much sooner than I left Herrick. And I know that you tried to be human. How was Thomas able to get you to choose this?"

"First of all, we don't get to choose. They choose us. They're just that strong. Second, if I'd been given the choice, knowing my life now, I'd have jumped at the chance. It wasn't easy, though," Padraig said softly. He pulled the car over and stopped under a street light. Turning in the seat, he looked at Mitchell.

"It took a long time," Padraig started. "Thomas didn't set it up for anyone to help me, like Wyndam has done for you. So, for me, there was a lot of pain, a lot of his blood, and a lot human blood. It takes time to really wipe out all parts of you that might be human, or might want to be human." Padraig stopped, but Mitchell didn't say anything.

"That's what this is. It's more than just keeping the memories at bay, Mitchell. More than feeding and killing to keep the terror away. This is a complete and total ripping away of anything human in you. No more thoughts of any other life, no desire for what was or what might have been, no regrets, no wishes for something else. Just being vampire." Padraig paused, watching Mitchell turn this over in his mind.

"I think that's why they chose us," Padraig continued, "because we still acknowledged our humanity, still lived it a bit. For some reason, it makes this more likely to succeed if we give that up gradually. When you do finally surrender to it, it is complete, and irrevocable. But…"

"I did that!" Mitchell interrupted. "The other night, in Wyndam's suite. I felt that human part of me go! So what is this?"

"It's a process, Mitchell. What you felt was your…surface humanity being stripped away. The humanity that made you want to do the polite things, abide by their rules, stop at red lights, work with them, joke with them, and hide what you are. That part is gone, Mitchell, you'll never again be concerned with the polite civil things in human society, unless it serves a purpose for you or Wyndam."

"That's not what it felt like today, with George."

"And you're right. George is part of your humanity that goes much deeper, much more than just polite society. You aren't ready to give that up yet. You hit a wall today, and humanity tried to drag you back."

"That's impossible, Padraig," Mitchell said, shaking his head. "I spent decades being vampire, and didn't get my reputation because I still had shreds of humanity in me! I was cold, and ruthless, and brutal. There was nothing human about it."

"But you always stopped, Mitchell," Padraig told him. "What made you stop killing?" Mitchell didn't answer.

"Humanity is a strong instinct, Mitchell. You're born with it, or most of us are, the desire to be part of the species, to be better for it. When threatened, it tries to preserve itself, with that final bit of being human. It won't let you go easily. When it finds a chance to pull you back, it will. That's what happened today. Your humanity saw George as a way to drag you back again. You're still committed to Wyndam, and to doing what he needs of you, but only on the condition that your humanity insists on - George lives. That's what Wyndam will not tolerate. There are no conditions to this."

Padraig was silent, letting his words get through to Mitchell. Mitchell was shaking his head, but not disagreeing with him.

"When that point comes," Padraig told him, "when you've started to regain a bit of humanity, Wyndam will do what is necessary to strip it from you. But each time, the surrender becomes harder and harder, because he's getting to the deepest part of your humanity. That's why they're in our heads so much, looking for all the pieces, and finally, that last bit. Piece by piece, they strip it away. If you're strong enough, you survive it with your mind intact."

"So it's back to torturing us with That Hunger, and their blood?" Mitchell said through clenched teeth. "That is not acceptable to me!"

"It's up to Wyndam how he does this, but he will do it. You can't fight it, Mitchell. Especially when it's him. And yes, their blood is the key to it. There will come a point when you will give up that final piece to him, and then you're…his. Theirs." Padraig stopped, gauging Mitchell's response. Mitchell sat with his head down, eyes closed, knowing what Padraig was saying was true.

"What was that point for you?" Mitchell asked quietly.

"I refused to kill a human girl." Padraig said without emotion.

"What?" Mitchell was surprised. "Were you in love with her?"

"No, not that," Padraig shook his head. "She was the daughter of a woman I did love, decades earlier. You weren't the only one to try a relationship with a human," Padraig smiled. "Like yours, it lasted for awhile, and then she went on and had her human life, husband, two kids, a boy and a girl. Thomas found her memory in my mind. I'd managed to hide it from him, for awhile, by convincing myself it was a stupid mistake. But you can only block them for so long, especially when they're in your mind so much, and you're in such…turmoil. He found the true memory, and knew it was the final piece I was holding on to. He tracked her down, but she and the husband and son all died in a car crash. The young girl was the only one to survive." Padraig paused, taking a deep breath.

"She was twenty, Mitchell, and she was beautiful. I mean, stop you in your tracks, loose all thought beautiful. Like her mother. Dark auburn hair, the bluest eyes, full of Irish and sweetness. Back then, I used to think that if I'd remained human, she could have been my daughter." Padraig smiled again.

"Thomas demanded that I recruit her. I refused. He was…disappointed," Padraig frowned. "I wound up with more broken bones than I could count, and spent the next three months chained to a wall, in pain, not allowed to feed, and Thomas filling me with hunger. That Hunger."

Mitchell nodded, knowing what Padraig meant. He'd felt it that night in Wyndam's suite. He had gotten to the point that he'd have done anything Wyndam demanded, just to stop it.

"I couldn't heal," Padraig continued, "and I couldn't feed, and all I knew was That Hunger. He brought her to me every day, asked if I was ready to recruit her. I refused. She was so scared. I begged him to end me, or ask me to do anything else. He told me he would never end me, and if need be, would leave me there as an example to everyone else." Padraig said quietly, remembering that time.

"For almost three months, I refused him." Padraig turned back in his seat. "Then, one day, I didn't. By then, I was so starved, so mad with hunger, I drained her and killed her." There was no emotion in Padraig's voice.

"Shit." Mitchell said softly.

"She was the last thing in me that was human, and the moment I killed her was the moment I completely surrendered it. And it felt good! After that, no matter what Thomas required me to do, I did it. Killing, recruiting, destroying, didn't matter. He'd reward me with his blood, and it was even better than when going through this. The power and the life in it were, and still are, incredible. I loved it. Now, I don't know how I ever lived any other way. I'm vampire, I do what we do, and I am what we are. It's simple."

Padraig started the car, and pulled onto the road.

Mitchell was silent, digesting what Padraig had said. It was true, the moment he saw George, he'd felt that human scratch again in his mind, that thing that tried to tell him not to kill George.

But he'd also wanted to give Wyndam what he wanted, which in itself was a new feeling. He was surprised Wyndam wasn't already in his head, trying to stop his doubts, and trying to stop Padraig from telling him these things.

"It's fucking mental," Mitchell whispered, hands clenched into fists again.

"It will get better. You have to give it time, and trust Wyndam. You've only been at this for a few days! Christ, it took me years to be able to function on a decent level, but that was because of how Thomas chose to do this. He really liked the idea of a Mick bound to a Scotsman, so he enjoyed the process." There was no anger in Padraig's voice.

"And yes, this will fuck with your mind in ways you can't imagine," Padraig warned. "That's why you have to trust Wyndam. It will sort itself. Thomas taught me how being vampire is so much better than being human. I'm grateful to him for it."

Mitchell didn't say anything.

"Best advice I can give you, Mitchell, is to trust Wyndam. He's done this to you for a reason, and it can be beyond brilliant, if you let it."

"So, why did you stop me from killing George, knowing that Wyndam ordered it done?"

"Because it's what you needed. And Wyndam wants you to complete this process."

"I can't do this, Padraig," Mitchell said shaking his head. "I won't."

"You have no choice, mate, so don't think about it. Just accept it."

Mitchell continued to shake his head. He wanted to please Wyndam, but this was…there was no way he could do this, be this much of what Wyndam wanted.

Padraig stopped the car again. They had reached their destination.

"So, are you ready to do this?" Padraig finally asked him.

"No!" Mitchell spat out. Eventually he sighed, his shoulders dropping. "That doesn't matter, does it?"

"No, it doesn't. But, Mitchell, you have to do this part right, and that means getting your mind to focus. You cannot disappoint him again. You don't want him that angry. So, just do this, and then it'll be over. We'll go have several drinks, and then find a nice pub and get hammered!"

Mitchell was silent again, staring out the window at the familiar sight. A part of him wished Wyndam was in his head right now, helping him to do this. But Wyndam was silent.

"Páidí?" he finally said softly.

"Yeah, mate?"

"Thanks. And not just for George."

He pushed away the doubts he was having, and focused on what he was about to do.

ooooooooo


	22. Chapter 22

**Is someone coming to help George? Or was Mitchell lying...again?**

* * *

><p>His head finally stopped bleeding, so George used the bloody towel as a headrest against the wire of the cage. He really needed some aspirin. The exchange with Mitchell had disturbed him more than he thought, and his stomach was still in knots and he was shaking. He didn't know what bothered him more, the fact that Mitchell almost killed him, or that Mitchell was back with Them. Probabaly the latter, but either way, it seems he'd lost his best friend.<p>

Taking a deep breath and shaking his head, George pushed away his thoughts of Mitchell, and focused on finding a way out of the cage. He did not trust Padraig's promise of help on the way, so he continued his detailed inspection of every section of the wire cage, looking for a weakness. So far, he was not having any success. Willie chuckled at him a few times, but said nothing.

Playing devil's advocate in his mind, he also thought about who might be coming to help him, if someone was actually coming. He didn't believe Padraig, but it gave him something to think about other than how scared Nina must be. And how scared he was. He didn't know what he'd do if Wyndam hurt her, or the baby.

A vampire coming to help him. He had no idea who it might be, and ran through the several vampires he'd met through Mitchell. George couldn't remember all their names, but he did know it wouldn't be Ivan, who just couldn't be arsed to do anything. Or Daisy, she'd never turn against Ivan, regardless of what she'd shared with George in the past. Maybe that one that had been at the house…what was his name? Greg? No, Gar…no, Graham. That was it, Graham. Big guy, hair kind of like Mitchell, leather jacket, reminded George of a Mitchell-wanna-be. George had not seen him among the vampires watching them, and it seemed he and Mitchell had some kind of friendship. Perhaps it was Graham coming to help, and at least he'd recognize Graham.

_Hell, what vampire would help me anyway?_ George thought, shaking his head. Even Padraig, with his professed loyalty to Mitchell, made it clear he would kill George if it came down to it. No, there really was not a vampire George would trust. With a very heavy heart, he added Mitchell to that list.

He didn't know what to believe about Tom. Mitchell said Wyndam knew about Tom. But how? And if so, why hadn't Wyndam done something about him? That didn't make sense. Tom and Annie were still meeting and neither had seen anything even remotely suspicious. George wanted to believe that it was a bluff. Or it could just be another lie from Mitchell.

"Damn you, Mitchell," he whispered. He had no idea what to do about Mitchell. All he knew at this point was that Mitchell was involved in Nina's kidnapping. And if something happened to Nina, he's make sure Mitchell paid for it, regardless of their friendship.

Finding no way out of the cage, George sat down against the back of the cage, elbows on knees, head in hands, watching Willie. He really hoped the talk about Tom was a bluff. He'd tried the mobile Padraig had given him, trying to reach Annie at the house, but it wouldn't dial out. That much was true. George knew that if he got out of this cage, he'd go straight to Nina, without stopping at the house to tell Annie or to find a way to get to Tom. There was no time for that, not until Nina was safe. He didn't think Annie wasn't in any danger, but Tom was another story. He hoped that if something happened, Annie would be able to help Tom.

Somehow, he'd sort it, and get to them, but first he had to get out of the damn cage! He slammed his hand against the wire in frustration.

Hearing footsteps at the doorway, George looked up to see Willie stand up, and a man walk down the steps. Willie shook hands with him, and they laughed about something. The two of them then walked toward the cage. George got to his feet.

"… a change of plans," George heard the new one say. "Mitchell said I'm supposed to take the dog to the main house. Lord Wyndam has decided he wants to talk to him, and doesn't want to come here."

"Samuel didn't say anything to me about that," Willie said, frowning.

The two vampires stopped at the cage. The new one didn't look at George, and instead spoke to Willie. George was too stunned to say anything.

"Probably because plans just changed," Carl said, smiling. "I wouldn't presume to tell you about Lord Wyndam, or your operation here. However, I have been told that when things are in such a constant state of change, having to manage operations going on in so many locations, he prefers to stay in a centralized location. Is that true?"

"Yeah, that's true," Willie preened, but in reality, he knew nothing about what Wyndam did or did not like. He'd actually never met Wyndam.

"Hello, George," Carl said quietly, turning to George and putting his hands in his coat pockets. "It's been a long time. How have you been?"

"Carl?" George could not believe what he was seeing. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Haven't you heard, George? The revolution has started. All hands on deck, so to speak."

"You know him?" Willie asked Carl.

"Oh, yes," Carl laughed. "He was stupid enough to help me get out of town awhile back, when some trouble came up. I guess he wasn't the smartest cub in the litter!" Carl laughed again, and Willie joined in, pointing at George. George said nothing, anger swirling, especially after what he'd done to help Carl. But then again, Carl was a vampire, and any hint of responsibility or decency was nonexistent.

"So," Carl turned to Willie. "You unlock the cage, and I'll put these on him." Carl pulled a set of handcuffs from his coat pocket.

"I don't know," Willie said, scratching his cheek. "I think I should talk to Samuel about this."

"Of course. You go ahead and do that, and I'll just ring Mitchell so he can tell Lord Wyndam that we'll be delayed. I'm sure he'll understand." Carl pulled a mobile from his inside pocket and started to dial.

"No!" Willie jumped. "No, no need to bother them. Mitchell said someone would come to relieve me, so I guess that's you." Willie went over to the side wall and removed the key from a hook. Carl looked at George, but said nothing.

Willie was about to put the key in the lock when his mobile rang. Stopping to answer it, he turned away from Carl.

Carl glanced quickly at George, but still didn't say anything.

"Yeah, he's behaving, for now," Willie said into the mobile. "No, I haven't touched him! He's okay! Samuel, I'm telling you, he's like you left him. Still wiping the blood offa the back of his head, but he's okay!" Willie turned to look at Carl, rolling his eyes. Carl laughed.

"Okay, okay!" Willie said. "Here? Are you sure? Yes, yes…but I thought…Samuel? Samuel?" Willie lowered the mobile and looked at Carl, frowning. "I don't understand," he said, walking over to Carl. "Samuel said he's coming here later to see the dog. But if you're here now…"

"Must be another change in plans," Carl said quickly. "I'll ring Mitchell, find out what we're supposed to do."

"Yeah, call Mitchell," Willie agreed, walking to the cage door, looking at George. Carl turned away, mobile in his hand.

Willie didn't hear Carl spin around. He didn't hear Carl step behind him. He didn't even hear the stake plunge through his back. He just saw it suddenly protruding from the left side of his chest.

Staring at it, he reached for the piece of wood, but didn't touch it. Surprise and shock registered on his face, and he gurgled.

"What th…" he said, looking at George, before becoming a wispy cloud of smoke and ash. His clothes and the stake fell to the floor.

Shocked, George didn't speak, just stared at the pile of clothes on the floor. Carl was already moving, picking up the key to the cage, unlocking the door and pushing it open for George.

"What are you doing here?" George finally asked Carl, as he stepped out of the cage. George quickly bent down and picked up the stake, and moved away from Carl.

"I'm getting you out."

"Yes, I see that, but what are you doing here?" George asked, not trusting Carl.

"George, we need to go! Now!"

"Not until you tell me what you're doing here," George insisted, still backing away from Carl. "I've been lied to by everyone. Last I saw you, you were headed to Brazil. What are you doing here?"

"Mitchell left me a message, about a month ago," Carl told him, not moving. "Said he'd killed Herrick. By the time I received the message, Wyndam already had him. I've been here a couple weeks, watching you, and Lawrence. With everything going on, I thought you'd need help at some point." Carl started for the steps. "Come on, we need to get out of here, now."

"Why didn't you help Mitchell?"

"Because I can't!" Carl told him, frustration in his voice. "Wyndam has him, and has been in his mind for over a month! There is nothing to be done for Mitchell, at least not now. George, we really need to get out of here!"

"Why should I trust you?" George asked, also starting toward the steps. "You're one of them."

"Because I always repay my debts, George," Carl told him. "I owe you. And I owe Mitchell. And I don't believe in what Wyndam is doing. We have to go, George, now!" Carl ran toward the steps.

George thought for a moment, considering what Carl had said, and what Padraig said. Finally he nodded.

"I need to get to Nina. I know where she is," George told Carl, running for the steps.

"How do you know that?" Carl asked, now also running.

"Padraig," George told him.

"Mmm, that makes sense," Carl told him. "He and Mitchell are good friends, very much alike."

"Yeah, I don't care. I just need to get Nina."

They left the building, going on the only information George had on where Nina might be. George prayed the information was true, and not just a trap. And he prayed that he wasn't too late to get her back.

oooooooooo

"Give me your mobile," George said to Carl once they were in the car stolen by Carl. Carl handed it over, and George rang the house, hoping Annie was home. She didn't answer, and neither did the voice mail. George's stomach tightened at that, but there was nothing to be done now. He had to get to Nina. He kicked himself for not memorizing Tom's number. They'd all thought it best, in case Wyndam decided to step up his agenda and come after George.

The address given by Padraig was on the western outskirts of Barry. Carl parked several streets away from the house, and he and George kept to the trees and shrubs while they quietly made their way to the house. It was a private home, two stories high, set on a sprawling parcel of land. In the dark, George couldn't tell exactly how big the house was, but the lights in the windows indicated it was large. It was far enough away from any other home that no one would see or hear the comings and goings at the house.

_Or hear the screams of humans, _George thought to himself. The drive leading up to the house was fairly long, with trees and shrubs lining the way, and ended with a three-car garage and a large parking area in front of it. It was just the kind of place George would expect Wyndam to have, large, very high end, and away from prying eyes.

They found a vantage point that allowed them to see both the house and the garage. There was a car parked outside the garage.

As they watched, they saw three vampires come from the house, and a fourth person, very short, among them. Nina. She was pushed into the back seat of the car and the door slammed shut. A vampire stood guard on either side of the car, the third patrolled around the parking area.

George exhaled some of the tension in his chest, relieved that Nina was still here, and she seemed to be unhurt. At least that much was in their favor.

Carl put a hand on George's arm when George started to go toward Nina. Shaking his head, Carl whispered to George to stay put while he circled around to see how many vampires were about. George tried to stop him, not trusting him, but he was gone in an instant.

George was working out the best way to get Nina out of the car. The only option seemed to be a surprise attack. He stayed focused on Nina, and tried to hear whether she was crying, but he couldn't, she was too far away. He wished he could send her his strength, and give her some idea that he was nearby.

Suddenly, a hand clamped over George's mouth, and pulled him backward. His heart pounding, George tried to regain his balance and not drop the stake he was holding, while reaching back to grab whoever was holding him.

"Shhh, George, it's me," Tom whispered into George's ear, before George could raise a fuss. George sat back, trying to catch his breath, and slow his racing heart.

"What are you doing?" Carl whispered as he returned to their hiding spot. "I can hear your heart pounding from over there!"

Tom saw Carl and immediately reached for the wooden stake at his belt.

"No!" George whispered. "He's with me. With us."

Tom frowned, not believing George. George nodded vehemently, and motioned with his hands for Tom to calm down.

"He's here to help," George whispered to Tom. "Know him from Mitchell, before." Tom nodded, but kept his distance from Carl.

Motioning for them to follow him, Tom backed away from the house, and headed down the drive, until they were far enough away to talk.

"What are you doing here?" George whispered to Tom.

"Came to hospital to see you tonight," Tom answered quietly. "I heard a couple of the vampires talking about Mitchell, and how he's back in Barry. But I saw you and Nina get in the taxi, and then the vamps took out after you, so I followed. By the time I caught up, the car was driving away with Nina, and you were on the ground. Figured I'd better stay with Nina, try to help her, so I followed them."

George nodded, telling Tom he'd done the right thing.

"Did you know Mitchell's here?" Tom asked.

"Yeah," George said through clenched teeth, "I know."

"So where is he?" Tom asked.

"He's with them." George said curtly. "We can't count on him."

"You serious?" Tom was shocked. "Gaw, never thought he'd turn on you, George!"

"Well, he has. So, how do we do this?"

"I would suggest that I take out the vampires, and you two grab Nina and run for the car," Carl said.

"Carl, there are three of them," George told him. "You couldn't get to all of them before they yelled for help."

"The others are all inside, busy with….other things," Carl said, not looking at George. "It's the perfect time to do this."

"What other things?" George asked, eyes narrowing. Carl didn't answer him.

"Carl, what other things?" George insisted.

"They're feeding."

"No way!" Tom said.

"Yes, they are." Carl nodded. "They're distracted, now is the time to do this.

"Carl, we can't leave anyone in there with them," George said, shaking his head.

"It's too late for them, George," Carl told him softly. At George's look, Carl nodded. "I'm sorry, they're too far gone. You can't save them."

George closed his eyes, hands clenched into fists.

"George, you have to think of Nina." Carl did not tell George about the several humans in the cellar, still alive. The only person that mattered now was Nina. Besides, they'd never be able to get to the humans with so many vampires in the house.

George nodded, and took a breath.

"Okay." George said, pushing away any thoughts except those of freeing Nina. "You need help getting these guys at the same time. Carl, you and I will attack them, and Tom can get Nina from the car, and get her out of here. Tom, the car is…"

"No," Tom interrupted. "Me and Carl will take out the vamps, you get Nina and run."

"No, Tom," George shook his head. "They'll be looking for me after this, and Nina will be safer with you."

"I disagree, George," Carl said, pushing the car keys into George's hands. "It is more important that you and Nina stay together. We'll all get out of town together, and then decide how to split up. But for now, you have to stay with Nina. She's going to need you."

"I don't know," George whispered, shaking his head. He'd always planned to stay away from Nina, so they couldn't find her through him. He shook his head again, and opened his mouth to speak.

"Let's get back up there, see what's happening," Carl said, starting back toward the house, effectively cutting George off. George and Tom followed, George still thinking that Tom had to be the one to get Nina away.

Reaching their vantage point, they saw that nothing had changed.

"We need to move," Carl whispered. "The feeding has stopped and they'll recover soon."

"Okay. Carl lets go," Tom said, moving toward the car, a stake in each hand. He and Carl were on their way before George could stop them. All he could do was watch as they began their silent approach toward the car, and Nina.

oooooooooo


	23. Chapter 23

**"What about Annie?"**

* * *

><p>She was sitting on the sofa facing the front windows, lost in thought. Her fingers nervously twirled a piece of her hair. Fear had started to settle in and she was trying to control it. She wasn't afraid for herself, because Wyndam couldn't really hurt her. She was afraid for Nina and George. Everything was set for tomorrow, but so many things could go wrong. One misstep and the consequences for them could be fatal.<p>

She knew that she should just be brave enough to go take on Lawrence and the other vampires, and try to kill them all, see how many she could get. But George had a point - if she lost her power, or didn't get them all, then what? Wyndam had been clear in his threats and she had no doubt he would carry them out. He seemed so cold and so…evil, much worse than Herrick. But they were making a break for it tomorrow, so the same threat existed. She was back to thinking she should just try to kill them all.

She also knew what George would say when they talked about this tonight. The same thing Tom had told her earlier today when she talked about going after Lawrence. No. George would also tell her no, and would be as adamant as Tom had been. Tom had actually grabbed both her hands and wouldn't let go until she promised she wouldn't try to go after Lawrence. She could have rent-a-ghosted away from him, but he was so sincere in his concern for her, she didn't. She thought it sweet that he was trying to protect her.

She knew, too, that George wasn't sure he'd survive tomorrow, and if he did, he was planning to stay away from Nina, to make it more difficult for Wyndam to find her. He was willing to sacrifice everything to ensure her safety. Annie wasn't going to let that happen because as soon as Nina and Tom were safe, she was heading to help George. What she needed to figure out by tomorrow was how to do that. So far, all she could think of was to take a lot of stakes with her.

If she could...

Something interrupted her thoughts. A quiet sound, but it shouldn't be there. Her fingers froze in mid hair twirl. Staying still, she listening intently for a moment, but didn't hear anything more, and laughed at herself for being so jumpy.

"Annie?" someone whispered. This time she heard it. It sounded like... The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and she gasped. She didn't want to look, in case it wasn't. But what if it was?

Jumping up, she whirled about, eyes freezing on the kitchen doors; or rather, who was standing in front of them.

"Hi, Annie," he said, and smiled.

"Mitchell?" she whispered, unable to move.

He nodded, grinning at her. She saw him, but didn't move, not believing her eyes.

"Is it really you?" she whispered.

"Yeah, it's really me!" He nodded again, and held out his arms to her. Annie ran and launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around her, surprised at how solid she felt.

"Mitchell, Mitchell, oh my god, Mitchell!" Annie kept repeating his name, eyes shut, afraid to open them, afraid it wasn't real. The lights in the house started to flicker, and the kitchen doors swung on their hinges. The television and the stereo flickered on at the same time, and the magazines on the coffee table flew onto the floor.

"Annie, you're choking me," Mitchell finally laughed, and picking her up, twirled her around. "Is that you, doing all that?"

"Yeah, sometimes…" she started, and just as suddenly everything turned off. "Oh my God! It's you! You're here! I'm not going mad!" Annie said breathlessly, and grabbing his face in both hands, she fluttered small kisses all over his face.

Mitchell was laughing, and hugging her again

"Oh my God, Mitchell! How? When? How? Are you okay? What happened? When? How are you here?" she asked in between kissing him and running her fingers through his hair, down his shoulders, and across his chest. She couldn't stop trying to make sure he was real.

"Annie! It's okay! I'm here, and I'm okay!" he told her, finally stopping her hands, and looking at her.

"It's just…after…I didn't think…oh, God!" she said, and pulling his face to her, kissed him full on the mouth.

His sudden desire for her surprised him, and he wrapped one hand tightly around her waist, the other snaking into her hair at the back of her head. Pulling her to him, he held her close, kissing her deeply. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and clung to him, hands tight against his back and shoulders. He felt her joy at seeing him, and the love she had for him, and something stirred within him. She felt so good, so right. He surrendered to the kiss, savoring her feelings for him, drawing them into him.

_JOHN! _The word roared in his mind, filled with anger, jolting him and pulling him from the sweetness of her. His eyes snapped open, but he immediately shut them, ignoring the anger, and deepened the kiss, focusing on the feel of her.

The hunger was sudden and sharp, cutting into him, but not quite overwhelming. He felt the blood need rush through him, and his eyes blacken. He tightened his hold on her, willing it away, and for a moment, he succeeded. He didn't care if Wyndam was angry, Annie felt too good.

The pain stabbed into the left side of his head, and he squeezed his eyelids together tightly to keep from crying out. He didn't want to end the kiss. But the pain and hunger turned, and became something new to Mitchell, a different Hunger that not only burned in his throat and mouth making his fangs move, it made him start to shake with a need for violence. A need to physically destroy whatever he could. His fingers at Annie's started to dig into her side, and his fingers in her hair curled into a fist grabbing her hair. His muscles tightened and clenched, ready to explode into an uncontrollable rage. Wyndam's anger tore through him, through what he was feeling from Annie, and the threat was clear: Wyndam would make him hurt her.

He quickly and silently acknowledged Wyndam, conceded, and with great effort, tried to reign in his feelings. He felt the violent hunger lessen, and he softened the kiss, again silently acknowledging Wyndam. The need for violence receded, the shaking stopped, and his muscles relaxed. The pain lessened. He controlled his fangs, and felt his eyes return to their new normal.

Carefully, he broke away from her, and gently pushed her from him. She actually looked flushed, and he knew she believed the intensity of the last few moments was due to his feelings for her. She held onto his hand, and he smiled gently. He tried not to think about what Wyndam had just made him feel. He needed a drink. The hunger dissipated, and the pain subsided, but he knew they were there. Just as he knew Wyndam was there.

"Mitchell," Annie said quietly, rubbing his hands in hers. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was such a…a…you tried to tell me so many times, and I just wouldn't let you. And then I wanted you to go to prison, and didn't even give you a chance to…I'm sorry!" Large tears spilled out of her eyes.

"No, shhhh, its okay, Annie, really, its okay," he told her, gently wiping away the tears and putting his arms around her. "Don't cry. You were right. What I did was, is, unforgivable. You did the right thing, you all did. If Wyndam hadn't….oh, never mind. Let's not talk about that, okay?" He bent down, looking into her eyes, and smiled. She gave him a small smile, and nodded.

She knew there really was nothing any of them could say, or do, about what had happened. She'd come to realize in the past weeks that she loved him beyond description, no matter what he'd done, and would find a way to forgive him. She had promised herself that if she ever got him back, she would take responsibility for her part in making him hide things, not listening to him, and then she would make sure he stopped killing. She would help him through whatever weak moments he had, knowing full well he would have them. She loved him that much.

"Where are George and Nina?" he finally asked her, looking around the room.

"Work. Oh, we have to call them!" Annie started for the house phone sitting on the bar. Mitchell grabbed her arm.

"No, not yet. Let it be a surprise, okay?" Mitchell told her, smiling, and hugging her again.

"But if you're here," Annie whispered, "then we need to go get them and get away from here!"

"No, no, that's not gonna be necessary. Besides, the vampires are still outside. Let's just wait until George gets home, and we'll talk about what to do, okay?"

"Uh, okay…but how are you here? If the vampires are still watching the house, how'd you get in?"

"They think I'm one of them," Mitchell said, looking away from her, "so I just came through the back door."

"Oh! That could really help us!" she whispered excitedly.

"Let's talk about it when George and Nina get home, okay? For now, let's just be here, together. I've missed you, so much."

"Me, too. I couldn't stop crying!"

"You shouldn't cry over me, Annie!"

"What happened? What did Wyndam do?" Annie asked him, leading him toward the sofa.

Mitchell paused and took off his leather jacket, tossing it on the bar, and then froze. He stared at the hole in the wall behind the bar, where the registration window used to be. The window frame was completely destroyed, and most of the wall adjacent to it was shattered and broken away, leaving a gaping, massive hole. Where Wyndam threw George that night. As Mitchell stared at it, something tried to scratch in his mind, but he again felt a low pulsing of the pain.

"Yeah, we haven't fixed it yet," Annie said interrupting his thoughts. "George is fine, though."

"Yeah, as long as he's okay," Mitchell answered absently, looking away from the hole and pushing away all thoughts of that night.

"So, what happened?" Annie asked as they sat on the sofa.

"It's a long story. Maybe we can just sit here for a bit, and you can catch me up on how everyone is?"

He unbuttoned the sleeves of his red shirt, and sat back, propping his feet up on the wooden coffee table. He was wearing the new boots provided by Wyndam.

"Oh. Yeah, okay. Hey, where are your gloves?" she asked, taking one of his hands into hers, and rubbing the back of it.

"I don't know. But its okay, I don't really need them," he told her.

"Oh. I really think we should call George," she whispered, leaning in to him. "He needs to know you're back. He's been blaming himself for Wyndam taking you. He's going to want to come home right away."

"No, there are things you don't know," Mitchell whispered. "For now, we need to keep things as they are, so let's just wait until they get home, okay? I know it sounds insane, but seriously, this is the way we have to do this"

"What do you mean 'have to'?" she pressed. He just shook his head, putting a finger to his lips.

"I'd love a cup of tea," he prompted, smiling.

"What? Oh, of course, yeah. Or coffee?"

"Tea would be brilliant. I've missed your tea, Annie," Mitchell told her with a smile.

"I'll go put the kettle on," she said, jumping up and running toward the kitchen.

"Okay. I'm, uh, just gonna go upstairs and use the…" Mitchell called to her, heading for the stairs.

"Okay. Oh, my God!" Annie cried running back to him and hugging him again. "I'm so glad you're here," she whispered in his ear, and then turned and ran into the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Mitchell came down the stairs, and paused by the bar again. He lowered his head for a moment, hand on his jacket, and shut his eyes tight. He started to form the question in his mind, but he felt the jolt of anger from Wyndam, and stopped. Finally he took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and followed the sounds to the kitchen. Pushing open the door, he went to where Annie was making the tea, and leaned against the counter.

"Oh!" she exclaimed when she saw him.

"Yeah, I hope you don't mind," he told her, running a hand down the front of his shirt. He'd put on his old blue shirt, the one she still wrapped herself in, and he had rolled the sleeves up. "I saw it on the back of your chair in your room, and thought I'd like to wear it again." He smiled at her again.

"I don't mind at all," she whispered, lightly running her hands down his chest. "It was always my favorite on you," she gave him a tremulous smile, tears in her eyes.

He stepped close to her, giving her a long hug. He finally pushed back from her, and she gave him the mug of tea, along with a quick kiss on the cheek.

They returned to the sofa, Mitchell flopping in the middle, propping his feet up again. He tried not to glance over his left shoulder at the bar. Annie snuggled close to him.

"So, Nina is huge. I think the baby is going to come really soon," Annie told him.

"Really? Isn't that kinda fast?" Mitchell asked.

"Yeah, well, apparently not for a werewolf. New territory here, as usual, and just trying to handle it. We don't really know when to expect him."

"Him?"

"Well, that's just me, I think it's a boy," she smiled.

Mitchell didn't say anything, just nodded and took a drink of his tea.

"So, what happened?" she asked quietly, watching him sip the tea. Mitchell didn't answer right away.

"It's a long story," he finally told her, looking down.

"Take your time," she said gently.

"It's hard to explain," he said quietly. "That phone call, from Wyndam, I think it gave you an idea of what was going on." She nodded.

"Still, it was brilliant to hear your voice," he told her. "It helped me a lot."

"It sounded awful," she said, frowning.

"Yeah, it pretty much was." Mitchell was silent for long moments. "He tried to make me drink again, Annie," he finally told her softly, "to make me one of them again."

"Oh, Mitchell!" she squeezed his hand.

"He tried so many ways," Mitchell shook his head. "He kept starving me, wouldn't let me sleep, and then pushed people at me, showing me their blood. The worst part was when he threatened all of you, over and over, and…" his voice trailed off.

"But you resisted, right? You fought him, we heard it over the phone," she said anxiously.

"Yeah, I fought him – for awhile. And then he forced the issue," Mitchell told her, closing his eyes, pain written across his face. Annie gently squeezed his arm.

"It's alright. You don't have to talk about it. When you're ready, I'll listen, okay?" She hugged him around the waist, and laid her head on his shoulder.

"Thanks. I just...I really don't want to talk about that part of it now."

"But how did you get away? That call sounded like they had you under lock and key!"

Mitchell didn't answer her, just hugged her closer.

"You got away, right?" she asked, pushing back from him.

"It's such a long story…" he said quietly, again looking down at the mug.

"You did get away, though, right? Mitchell?" Annie laid her hand against his cheek and turned his face to her. Her eyes searching for the answer, she suddenly leaned in close, looking at his eyes. "What's wrong with your eyes?"

"Uh, nothing. What do you mean?" he asked carefully, trying to look away, but she caught his face in her hands and again turned him to look at her.

"They're different. They're dark, black, and there's…is that blue? Blue flecks in them?" She sat up fully, and turned to face him. "What happened to you?"

"It's…complicated," he said, putting the mug on the table, lowering his feet to the floor. He took one of her hands in his, stroking her fingers. God, she felt good.

"No. You are not starting that again. There is no complicated here. What happened? You did get away from him, right?"

Mitchell looked at her sadly, and shook his head.

"Then what?" she whispered.

"I'm sorry, Annie, I'm so sorry," he said, cupping her face in his hands. "I can't let him destroy you." he told her.

"What are you talking about?"

"I can't let Wyndam destroy you. I won't!"

"I don't understand. You're not making any sense!"

"Wyndam sent a vampire here, to watch you," he started.

"Yeah, this guy Lawrence. He's living across the way."

"He's got new orders. Wyndam found out about Tom, and has ordered Lawrence to kill George, and destroy you. I can't let that happen. I won't!" Mitchell shook his head. "I've convinced Wyndam to let me talk to all of you, see if we can't sort this somehow."

"George! Oh my God! We have to warn him!" she started to go for the telephone.

"No, no, it's okay," Mitchell grabbed her hand. "Nothing's gonna happen now. Like I said, I convinced Wyndam to let me talk to all of you. We'll do that tonight. Please, trust me on this, okay?"

"Uh, okaaay," Annie said reluctantly. "But wait," she said, shaking her head. "He can't hurt me. And after tomorrow, he won't be able to get to any of us," she whispered.

"You don't understand, Annie. He'll get to you no matter where you go! You don't know the power he has! And yes, he can destroy you!"

"Mitchell, I'm a ghost, and I'm powerful. He can't hurt me."

"Yes, he can," Mitchell told her sadly. "You don't know what he can do. He's had a thousand years to learn how to do whatever he wants." He took her hands again.

"He knows how to destroy you, to destroy ghosts," Mitchell told her. "I saw him do it to another ghost," he finished softly.

"What do you mean, you saw him?" Annie asked hesitantly.

"That's not important. What matters is that he can do it! It was awful, and I can't let him do that to you!"

"What happened?" Annie asked quietly.

"You don't want to know, trust me," Mitchell shook his head. "Just know that he can do it."

"Yes, I do want to know!" she told him. "If I'm going to fight him, I need to know what he can do!"

"Don't you get it?" Mitchell snapped exasperation in his voice. He took a breath and calmed his tone. "No one can fight him! I'm a vampire, and over a hundred years old, and he found a way…" his voice trailed off. "He's too strong, for anyone."

"Tell me," Annie demanded. Mitchell sighed.

"I don't know how he did it, but the ghost started to disappear – no, more like fade away. Not in smoke, more of just thinning out and fading away, becoming invisible. And she screamed, Annie! Oh God, she screamed so loud!" Mitchell stopped, not wanting to continue, but Annie nodded. "Finally, there was nothing left of her, but she was still screaming. It took a long time for the screaming to fade away," Mitchell's voice trailed off. He was silent, frowning.

"Wyndam said her soul would be in agony forever," he finally said, "and she'd scream for all of eternity. All of eternity, Annie!" Mitchell held her face again. "I can't let him do that to you! I just can't!"

Annie was quiet for several minutes, trying to understand what Mitchell told her. Then she looked sharply at him.

"Oh! That's what he used to get you to drink again, isn't it? Oh, my God, I'm so sorry!" she leaned in and hugged him tightly.

"No, no, it's okay. But I just can't let him hurt you!" He wrapped both arms around her, holding her close, eyes closed. God, she felt so good.

Suddenly, Mitchell felt someone grab him by the shoulders and throw him backward. He landed hard against the side wall, and lost his senses for a moment. He heard Annie scream, and he forced himself up, eyes flashing solid black, facing the threat.

Before he could act, and so fast he didn't see it coming, someone grabbed him again and slammed him up against the wall, the back of his head hitting the wall hard. Eyes no longer solid black, it took a moment for him to focus. When he did, he was looking into ice blue eyes full of anger. Wyndam held him against the wall, pressing against his shoulders. Mitchell started to struggle, and Wyndam hissed once at him, then slammed him against the wall again. Mitchell blinked, and relaxed. Wyndam held him there a moment longer, then nodded, and released him. Mitchell stumbled, but did not fall to the floor.

Straightening up, he saw Wyndam standing next to the bar, brushing his hands off. Lawrence was standing next to Wyndam, and Padraig had hold of Annie by the arms. Mitchell started for Padraig, but Lawrence took a step forward, warning him off. Mitchell stopped and took a slow breath.

"Wyndam?" he asked quietly, questioning. Wyndam didn't answer, but gave him an angry glance.

"Let go of me!" Annie tried to jerk her arm away, but the vampire had her tight. She didn't know this one. He was dark haired, and was watching Mitchell, waiting.

"Padraig," Mitchell said not taking his eyes from Wyndam, "please let her go." At Wyndam's curt nod, Padraig released Annie. She rushed to stand next to Mitchell, and Mitchell protectively pushed her behind him.

"Hello, Annie," Wyndam said, smiling at her.

"John," Wyndam continued, the smile replaced with cold anger. "Why do you insist on disappointing me, when you know the consequences for doing so?"

Mitchell felt the hunger start to gnaw at him.

* * *

><p>Mitchell kept his eyes on Wyndam.<p>

"You weren't supposed to be here yet, I haven't been able to talk to them," Mitchell told him.

"What the hell do you want now?" Annie demanded, moving to stand next to Mitchell.

"Annie, no!" Mitchell whispered, grabbing her arm. "Shhh, it's okay. Let me handle this, please." Annie nodded, but her lips were tight with anger.

"That's good advice Annie, you should follow it." Wyndam walked over to the sofa facing away from the window and, unbuttoning his suit jacket, sat down and crossed his legs. Lawrence and the dark haired vampire stayed where they were.

Mitchell still didn't move. Annie followed his lead.

"Have you told her?" Wyndam asked Mitchell. Mitchell gave a slight shake of his head. "Disappointing. Again. Sit down," he ordered.

Mitchell swallowed nervously, and took Annie's hand and led her to the sofa across from Wyndam. Sitting down, not taking his eyes from Wyndam, he pulled Annie down next to him.

"Tell me what? Mitchell, tell me what?" Annie asked, looking from Wyndam to Mitchell. He didn't answer. "Tell me what?" she insisted, fear creeping into her voice.

"Either you tell her, John," Wyndam told him, "or I will."

Still not answering, Mitchell shook his head at Wyndam. Wyndam simply raised his eyebrows, waiting. Mitchell clenched his jaw, muscles tightening. Wyndam laced his fingers together, one finger tapping against the others. Mitchell finally looked away, took a deep breath, and turned to Annie.

"I'm sorry, Annie," he told her quietly, "but you have to go with him."

"What? What did you say?" she asked, knowing she didn't hear correctly.

"You have to go with him," Mitchell said softly.

"Go with **him**? That's mad!" Annie scoffed.

"No, it's not. You have to go with him. We both do," Mitchell told her.

"What the hell are you talking about? I am not going anywhere with him!" She threw a disgusting look at Wyndam.

"Seems you've muddled this one, too, John," Wyndam said coldly.

"You didn't give me enough time, Wyndam," Mitchell said, looking at Wyndam. "You said I could talk to them, talk to Annie. I haven't had time to…"

"You're behavior earlier today has changed that," Wyndam interrupted. "You're leash has run out, John," he told Mitchell, his tone too quiet. Mitchell dropped his eyes, looking away.

"Annie, I warned all of you what would happen if you didn't behave," Wyndam told her. "You didn't. So things are changing. You are coming with me, and you will be useful to me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Annie answered carefully. "We haven't done anything!"

"Oh, Annie," Mitchell said, "why didn't you believe him? Why didn't you just…"

"John, enough," Wyndam said, annoyed, and then looked back to Annie. "I know about Tom. Meeting in the church was clever. Not clever enough, but still clever." Wyndam smiled, that smile.

"How did you…" Annie looked at Mitchell.

"I tried to tell you," Mitchell told her. "You can't hide anything from him!"

"Which brings us to your reason for being allowed to come here," Wyndam said to Mitchell. "Where is it, John?"

Annie saw the dark haired vampire walked around Wyndam to stand on the far side of the sofa, between Mitchell and the wall. He was dressed like Mitchell, jeans and a casual shirt, but his stance was menacing. Mitchell had called him Padraig, and gave him a quick glance.

"Mitchell, what's he talking about?" Annie asked, fear taking hold, the hairs on her neck tingling. Mitchell started to say something to her, but Wyndam interrupted again.

"Remember our agreement," Wyndam reminded him quietly. "Do not make me think you lied to me. I've kept Rose and Amanda away while you had your little reunion. Now where is it?"

Mitchell didn't answer, and instead looked at Annie, his eyes full of anguish.

"Stop this, you're really scaring me," Annie told Mitchell.

"John," Wyndam said softly, "if we need to do this the hard way, I will not just find it. I will rip it from your mind."

Mitchell wrinkled his brow, and cast his eyes down. Padraig took a step closer, and Annie could see he was on edge, readying for something, threatening. His deep blue eyes were focused on Mitchell, and Annie suddenly felt afraid for Mitchell.

Mitchell finally took a breath; a decision made, he looked directly into Annie's eyes.

"On the bar, under my jacket," he told Wyndam, not looking away from Annie. "I'm sorry, Annie, I'm so sorry." Padraig took a step back.

Wyndam strode to the bar, threw Mitchell's jacket to the floor, and picked up what was under it. He held it in his left hand, and covered it with his right. Closing his eyes, he whispered very softly for several moments. Annie strained to hear what he was saying, but only a word or two was loud enough to hear, and she didn't recognize them. It sounded like a foreign language.

Annie suddenly gasped, and swayed in her seat, reaching for Mitchell. She felt lightheaded and dizzy, as though she were going to faint, which was mad, because she couldn't faint! She heard a buzzing in her ears and her vision blurred, her stomach lurched and she felt sick. Mitchell grabbed her, holding on to her. In a moment, her head cleared, and she looked at Mitchell with confusion. She felt completely knackered.

"Are you all right?" Mitchell asked her.

"She's fine, John," Wyndam said, opening his eyes, and smiling broadly. He walked back to Annie, hand held out and palm open, showing her what he held.

It was a small, carved wooden box, with white marble inlays on the top.

"That's better," Wyndam said, still smiling. "Shall we?" he said, gesturing to the door.

"Just wait a minute, Wyndam!" Mitchell snapped. "She's not fine! And I haven't explained it to her yet. Just give me some time to explain it to her!" Mitchell's voice was full of anger.

"She doesn't need it explained to her, John," Wyndam said quietly. "And do you really want to use that tone?"

"No, no, it's just…" Mitchell said quickly, his voice quiet again. "You said I could talk to her, tell her what this is." Wyndam didn't answer, waiting. "Please," Mitchell said softly.

Wyndam silently considered Mitchell's request, his eyes flickering between Mitchell and Annie. Finally, Wyndam nodded, and moved to the sofa, sitting down again.

"What are you talking about," Annie whispered, still feeling weak. "What do you mean, he said you could tell me?"

"We know that when someone dies," Mitchell told her, "and they have unresolved...issues, their spirit is attached to something, like you were attached to the house in Bristol, and to me and George." Annie nodded. "Well, if someone like Wyndam gets hold of that thing, he can control the ghost. The ghost has no choice but to do what he tells them." Mitchell said it softly, watching Annie's face.

"What? That's mental!" she scoffed.

"Really, Annie?" Wyndam said. "After everything you've seen in the past few years, you think this is unbelievable? You're smarter than that."

"Controlling a ghost? Here? Not even…that place can do that!" Annie retorted. "You're more insane than I thought!" Wyndam chuckled and shook his head.

"Perhaps a demonstration, sir?" Lawrence offered. Annie glanced at him, and was struck by how much he was a clone of Wyndam, except for the hair. His suit was also expensive and black, as was the tie. He eyes were also ice blue, and his manner was cold. He wore the same disdainful expression. She felt a shiver run up her spine.

"No. She is coming with us, and she will learn as needed," Wyndam answered.

"Wyndam, it would be helpful," Mitchell said quietly.

"My patience is not unending, John, and you have tried it greatly today," Wyndam warned. Mitchell looked at him, but didn't answer.

"What the hell is going on?" Annie demanded, looking from Mitchell to Wyndam.

"Have you learned nothing about ghosts, Annie?" Wyndam said with exasperation. "Achhhh. A demonstration, then."

Wyndam motioned to Lawrence, who pulled something from his pocket and handed it to Wyndam. Annie saw it was a necklace with a locket on it.

"This is strictly for demonstration purposes, Annie," Wyndam told her, referring to the locket. "Rose, Amanda, join us," Wyndam commanded.

Suddenly, two women rent-a-ghosted into the room! Annie gasped, grabbing Mitchell's hand.

"its okay, Annie," he told her quickly.

"You're ghosts!" Annie exclaimed. The young one nodded. Annie looked at both women, not sure what to think.

The older one looked to be in her thirties. She was wearing a red dress with white buttons down the front, belted at her small waist, and fitted to just below the knee. A silver broach was pinned on her left shoulder. Her blond hair flowed down over her back, in large soft curls. She was beautiful, and looked very familiar to Annie.

The other woman was much younger, dressed in jeans, and a pink tee shirt with sparkles on it. She had wavy brown hair and big brown eyes, and looked miserable.

"Annie, meet Rose and Amanda. Ladies, Annie," Wyndam said waving his hand at them all. Neither Rose nor Amanda said anything. "Rose has been visiting with you for awhile, Annie," Wyndam continued, "listening to all your conversations with George and Nina and Tom. Those plans you all have for tomorrow? Sorry, not going to happen."

"But how?" Annie asked, looking from the ghosts to Mitchell.

"Oh, don't look at Mitchell," Wyndam laughed. "He had nothing to do with this. Oh, but that's not entirely true, is it Mitchell?" Wyndam smiled at Mitchell. "Do you want to tell her or shall I?" Mitchell didn't answer, glaring at Wyndam.

"As you said, John, she needs to know," Wyndam mocked. "Annie, young Amanda here has been a ghost for about a week now, ever since John took his time draining her and killing her. He was most considerate, though, killing her in my hotel, ensuring that I add her to my…collection. Isn't that right, John?"

Annie looked at Mitchell, questioning, but he didn't say anything and looked away.

"Why are you surprised, Annie?" Wyndam was still mocking. "I did tell you there were going to be a lot more ghosts. John is being most helpful in that area, allowing me to add many to my collection." Mitchell was again beginning to hate that smile. He wasn't sure why, but it was making him sick Annie was learning all this.

"Oh, Mitchell," Annie whispered. Mitchell nodded, but still didn't look at her, unable to bear the horror and sadness on her face.

"Achh, John. Again?" Wyndam said with annoyance. Mitchell knew he was referring to the feelings Mitchell was having for Annie. "Don't worry. I'll help you with that. Soon. For now," Wyndam stood up, buttoning his jacket, "we can all be on our way."

"Wait a minute," Annie thought of something. "How could they be here? I'd know it. I'd have seen them, or felt them. I don't believe you," she told Wyndam.

"Annie, you are starting to try my patience," Wyndam said, shaking his head. "Ghosts, powers, visible, unseen, remember? Rose can be visible when she wants, and unseen when she wants. I tell her when and where to use that power. She's been staying close to you since that night Mitchell tried to be so…foolish." Wyndam looked disapprovingly at Mitchell, who had not moved. "Rose is now helping Amanda discover her powers and usefulness to me."

"Oh! You were in the church!" Annie said to Rose, recognizing where she'd seen her. Rose nodded. "Why? Why would you work for him? Don't you know what he is?"

"Oh, she knows," Wyndam answered her. "She has no choice." He held up the locket Lawrence had handed him.

"Just like you now have no choice," he said, patting the side pocket of his suit jacket, where he'd placed the carved box.

"Wyndam," Mitchell said quietly, "this will take time. Perhaps she could talk with Rose for awhile, get this sorted…"

"No, I have something else in mind. Annie, pay attention," Wyndam interrupted, waving his hand. "Rose, in George's room, the bag Annie and Nina packed this morning," he ordered.

Annie watched as Rose popped out and returned almost immediately with the bag in hand. She handed it to Wyndam.

"And John?" Wyndam said, handing the bag to Lawrence. "We **will** deal with your theft of this money - **from me**." Mitchell didn't answer. Wyndam was right. He had stolen it from the vampires, which meant he'd stolen it from Wyndam.

"That doesn't prove anything, other than she works for you!" Annie told Wyndam.

"Tiresome," Wyndam replied. "Rose, take Amanda, go to Lawrence's house." The two ghosts disappeared.

"Rose," Wyndam whispered, "come here." Rose reappeared instantly. She looked miserable.

"It's true, Annie," Rose said softly. "I have to do what he says, as long as he controls my locket. It's the most awful thing. I've been tied to this for almost sixty years, and I wish every day that I'd gone through my door!" Annie gasped, and shook her head. Rose nodded, confirming it again.

"But that's…that's…no! That's insane!" Annie told her. Rose simply nodded again, smiling through the tears in her eyes.

Suddenly, Annie rent-a-ghosted to stand directly in front of Wyndam. She grabbed the locket from Wyndam's hand and threw it to Rose, and then jumped back to stand next to Mitchell.

"There, he doesn't have it anymore, Rose!" she yelled. "Get out of here!" Rose didn't move.

Wyndam clapped his hands slowly, laughing softly. Lawrence stepped over to Rose, and removed the locket from her hand. Rose did not try to stop him.

"Rose, no! Don't let him…" Annie started.

"It doesn't matter," Rose told her. "He's done something to it. I can't just take it and run. I've tried. So many times, I've tried. I have no more power over it, only he does." The tears started to spill onto her cheeks.

"Rose!" Wyndam barked. "Enough. Return to your room in Bristol, take Amanda with you." Rose disappeared again, and did not return.

Annie was in shock, unable to speak. She looked at Mitchell, and he nodded again.

"It's all true," Mitchell told her. "That's how Wyndam has known everything you've been doing. The ghosts have been here, watching and listening to everything."

"No," Annie shook her head, "it can't be."

"Yes, it can." Mitchell took her hand, and gently pulled her down onto the sofa. "I tried to tell you how powerful he is. This is part of what he can do."

"So how exactly does this affect me?" Annie asked softly, afraid of the answer. "What does that box have to do with me?"

"It's from the Bristol house," he told her, holding both her hands.

"Yeah…and?"

"It's yours," he told her softly.

"No, it's not. I gave to Owen, when we moved into the house, but it's not mine."

"Yes, it is, since you wouldn't go through your door."

"I don't…."

The house phone suddenly rang, and Annie jumped. Lawrence quickly went to the bar and ripped the phone's cord from the wall. It stopped ringing.

"I hate interruptions, don't you Annie?" Wyndam smiled.

Annie looked back at Mitchell, waiting.

"You're tied to the box, Annie. It's what keeps you grounded here. It's what let you come to Barry with me from …that place. It's what lets you stay here."

"This is absolutely mental!" Annie told Mitchell. "What has he done to you to make you believe this nonsense?"

"Remember when we were worried about Herrick," Mitchell pressed, "and what he could do to you? If he took George and me out of the picture and burned down the house, you'd just float away in a puff of smoke?" Annie nodded.

"After you refused death, in that house," Mitchell continued, "your spirit wasn't tied to the house anymore. But it has to be attached to something for you to stay here…like Rose is tied to her locket." Mitchell stopped, waiting. Annie's eyes widened and a look of horror crossed her face.

"Are you saying that box is what...?" She couldn't finish the sentence.

"Yes," Mitchell told her, nodding. "Your spirit is tied to it."

"How do you know?"

"It gives off… an energy, just like you do," Mitchell told her. "I can hear it, just like I can hear you. When you were in that place, and George and I came here, I packed your things, including that box. I knew it would have to be here, for you to come to Barry. You can go wherever you want, as long as it's in your possession."

"So that means…" she whispered.

"Since you've been here, it's been yours, in your control. You come and go as you like. But if someone like Wyndam, with his powers, possesses it and does…whatever he just did, you no longer control it. He controls you because he controls the thing your spirit is tied to," Mitchell finished softly, watching her face for her reaction. Annie was stunned for a moment, and then shook her head.

"This is madness! No way! I don't believe any of it!" she said emphatically. "He can't control me just because of a stupid box! And if it were true, you'd have told me so I could protect myself. I don't believe it!"

"I didn't have time to tell you," Mitchell told her. "I thought I'd be gone, and any threat to you with me. But Wyndam, he…he's in my mind, and he found it there. He's very powerful, Annie. It was either this, or you would all be destroyed. I couldn't let that happen, I couldn't," he finished, shaking his head, looking down at her hands.

"So what?" Annie was angry. "You think this monster having some control over me is better? I don't believe it, I won't!" she shouted at Wyndam, jumping up from the sofa. Mitchell stood up, grabbing her by the arm.

"ENOUGH!" Wyndam shouted. He shook his head at Mitchell, clearly annoyed.

"Annie," Wyndam's voice was calm again, "I don't really care if you believe it or not. You are coming with me."

"No, I'm not," Annie told him evenly.

Wyndam started toward her, anger flashing. Mitchell pulled her back, away from Wyndam. Wyndam stopped, staring at Mitchell, and raised his eyebrows.

"Wyndam, don't," Mitchell said. "Just let me talk to her. You don't have to….just let me talk to her. Please." Mitchell stepped in front of Annie, facing Wyndam, accepting the anger from Wyndam.

"You are so over the line, John, I may never let you find your way back!" Wyndam told him. Mitchell nodded his understanding, but stood his ground.

"Understand, I will not let this go," Wyndam warned him. Mitchell nodded again, and then doubled over from the quick sharp jolt of pain. "Just a reminder," Wyndam told him.

"You have three minutes. Lawrence, call Samuel and get an update, while John," he said, still angry, "tries to explain things to Annie.

Lawrence removed a mobile from his pocket, and went into the hallway, dialing a number.

"But don't doubt this, Annie," Wyndam warned. "You are coming with me, and you **will** be useful to me."

oooooooooo


	24. Chapter 24

**"...I think you're more powerful than you imagine..."**

* * *

><p>Mitchell sat down on the sofa, pulling Annie to sit beside him. He turned and faced her, trying not to look at Wyndam standing by the bar.<p>

"I'm sorry, Annie, but we have to go with him," he told her softly. "We'll sort this, somehow, but for now, we both have to go with him. I know, it's madness," he said, when she started to say something, "but we have no choice. He can hurt you now, and he can be…we have to go with him, but you and I will figure this out, together, I promise."

"No! I will not go with him! I don't believe this, and I'll never do anything that he says!" Annie glared at Wyndam.

"Please, don't be…we don't have a choice!" Mitchell pleaded with her. "I'm afraid of what he'll do to you, if you try to refuse."

"You should be afraid of what I'll do to you, John," Wyndam interrupted, looking pointedly at Mitchell.

"No! You leave him alone!" Annie yelled.

"No, don't," Mitchell told her, shaking his head. "I've already pissed him off, and have to…it doesn't matter. But I couldn't…if he hurt you…please, do what he says," Mitchell stroked her cheek with his fingers, sadness in his eyes. Annie took hold of his fingers, and gave them a quick kiss, her eyes filling with tears.

"What will he do to you if I refuse?" she whispered. Mitchell gave a slight shrug, looking away from her, but didn't answer her.

"I won't let him hurt you. I won't," she told him, holding tight to his hand. "We don't have to do anything he…" she stopped, turning his hand over in hers. "Mitchell, your hand! I can feel..." She rubbed his palm against her cheek. "Your hand, it's really warm! How? You were always so cold!" He tried to pull away but she wouldn't let go and with her other hand, turned his face back to her. She was waiting for an answer. He shook his head and shrugged again.

"Because he's not starving anymore, Annie," Wyndam filled in. Annie gasped, knowing what that meant.

"What has he..." Annie started to ask Mitchell.

"Well?" Wyndam asked, interrupting, as Lawrence came back into the room.

"She has been secured, and they are leaving shortly," Lawrence reported. Wyndam raised his eyebrows at Lawrence, and Lawrence gave him a quick nod. Wyndam smiled.

"Good. And the other," Wyndam paused, smile gone, "we know where he is, don't we, John? We will discuss that when we finish here."

Mitchell looked away from Wyndam, knowing another painful 'discussion' was on the way. What he didn't know was why he felt so…shit about it. He pulled his hand away from Annie and lowered his head, fingers curling into a fist. He wanted a drink.

"Mitchell?" Annie prompted. He shook his head at her, refusing to look at her.

"It's alright, Annie, he's just a bit unsettled today," Wyndam's smile was anything but reassuring. "I'll help him with that later, and he'll be back to his true self in no time." Mitchell closed his eyes, knowing that meant more of Wyndam's blood. Just what he didn't want, not now, not after seeing Annie. At least, he didn't think he wanted it. And that was part of the problem.

_Unsettled, yeah, right,_ he thought miserably. _Completely fucked is more like it._ How did things get so arsed backwards? He felt so completely fucked up it was like he was back on that battlefield, sinking in the blood and mud and unable to gain his footing. Only this time, the war was raging inside him, and with himself. Seeing George today, he knew he wanted to protect both George and Annie, but he also had an overwhelming need to not disappoint Wyndam. Now, everything he'd done today had disappointed and pissed off Wyndam. It was all making him feel like there was something inside of him getting ready to explode. Like his chest was being crushed in a vise and a knife in his stomach was slowing cutting away at him. His insides were shaking and he'd never felt so out of control. It was terrifying. More terrifying than anything he'd felt trying to go clean.

_Shit,_ he thought, w_hat the fuck is wrong with me? _He really needed a drink. He raked his fingers through his hair, trying to stay focused and maintain some control. He just wanted to disappear. _Shit! I need to get away before I kill someone in front of her! _ His fingers raked through his hair again._ But I'm so tired. What the fuck is wrong with me?_

Anguish in his eyes, he looked at Padraig and silently asked for help. Padraig nodded his understanding, then gave him a reassuring half smile and motioned for him to take a deep breath. It would be okay, just stay focused, was what Páidí was telling him. It was what Páidí told him in the car. Stay focused and this would be done and it would all sort itself. Eyes on Páidí, he took a deep breath and forced his shoulders to relax. Páidí took a breath at the same time, and gave him a full smile. His stomach stopped lurching.

One thought was clear to him, and taking another deep breath, he tried to hold on to it: everything he'd done today, he'd do again. He had done the right thing today.

"The right thing for whom?" Wyndam asked softly. Mitchell's head snapped up and he saw that Wyndam wasn't smiling.

"You and I both know what the problem is, John, and we'll deal with it later," Wyndam told him. His mouth watered and his stomach lurched and the knife sliced away.

"Now, Annie," Wyndam said, gesturing to the door. "Shall we?" Wyndam moved the carved box into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

"No," Annie said defiantly, standing up. "I refuse to believe this. I'm not going **anywhere** with you." A small smile played on her lips.

The kitchen suddenly erupted in noise. There was a loud crash, and the sound of glass and dishes shattering and breaking. Cupboard doors and drawers slammed shut, and something, actually many things, crashed against the walls. The kitchen doors swung wildly on their hinges, and the stereo and the television roared to life, blaring in volume.

Wyndam clasped his hands behind his back and sighed patiently. Annie smiled, and the television and stereo shut off.

"I think you'll find I'm not so easily ordered about," she challenged Wyndam. "Now, unless you want me to send you a nice pointy piece of wood, I'd suggest you get the hell out of here and leave us alone!" More glass shattered in the kitchen, and the lights in the house flickered.

Mitchell didn't try to stop her, and instead, stayed sitting on the sofa with his head down, elbows on his knees. His hands were tightly clasped together and pressed against his forehead, and he had shut his eyes tight. He was trying desperately to control the shaking need inside him that wanted to erupt.

"See, John, I told you she had strength," Wyndam told Mitchell.

Taking another deep breath, Mitchell opened his eyes and looked up at Wyndam. Knowing what was coming but silently asking that it not, Mitchell shook his head at Wyndam. That Smile was Wyndam's response and Mitchell knew there was nothing to be done for it. With a harsh jolt and the knife cutting away, it hit him that he had no way of protecting her. Wyndam wouldn't allow it.

"Finally," Wyndam told him. Mitchell looked away and was silent. A thought was starting to form in his mind, and he didn't like it.

"As amusing as this is, Annie, you will stop all of this, now," Wyndam ordered, and the noise in the kitchen stopped. "Although that particular talent of yours will be helpful, this is not the proper time or place."

Annie's eyes widened as she realized she wasn't poltergeisting anything anymore. She tried again, but nothing happened. Wyndam rocked back on his heels and smiled at her, nodding.

"How did…why does he keep saying that – 'useful'?" Annie asked, turning to Mitchell.

"Have you figured out what you can do yet?" Mitchell looked up at her, his eyes filled with resignation and sadness. "Do you have any idea the power you have over us non-humans?"

"What do you mean, us non-humans?" Annie looked from Mitchell to Wyndam and back to Mitchell.

"We are done here," Wyndam told him. "She'll learn soon enough, one way or the other!"

"No!" Mitchell's anger started to erupt. He was angry at Wyndam, angry at his own stupidity, and angry at the constant warring going on inside of him. He glared at Wyndam. "If you're going to do this, she needs to know, to understand why you're doing this!"

"I granted you one reprieve today, John," Wyndam warned. "There will not be another."

The muscle in Mitchell's jaw clenched and unclenched several times. Wyndam raised his eyebrows, waiting. Finally, Mitchell exhaled and quickly turned to Annie, one last desperate attempt to help her.

"Annie," Mitchell grabbed her by her upper arms and looked intently into her eyes. "How you were in the funeral home, remember**? R****emember! **When you helped me. You can do that, only…more. You can stop, and kill, fully transformed werewolves. And what you did to Cooper, while protecting Nancy? You can…aaahhhh!" The pain sent Mitchell tumbling to his knees, grabbing at his head. Leaning across the wooden coffee table for support, he tried to breathe through the pain.

Annie shouted his name and knelt next to him. Putting her arms around his middle she tried to help him, but he shook her off and hissed at her. She jumped up, backing away from him.

"What did you do to him?" Annie cried, looking at Wyndam.

"I warned you, John." Wyndam walked to where Mitchell was still kneeling, and leaned over him. "I told you not to disappoint me, and here you are, doing just that, **again! **You have failed miserably today, and that is unacceptable."

"What are you doing? Stop it!" Annie shouted at Wyndam. Wyndam turned his intense gaze to her, and she gasped, taking a step back. His blue eyes were now black, and she could actually see the darkness emanating from them and the cloud of black that surrounded him.

"What are you going to do, Annie?" Wyndam taunted her. "Do you really think you can help him?" Mitchell was still on his knees and leaning over the table, arms wrapped around his head and hands clenched in his hair. Wyndam turned back to Mitchell.

"It doesn't have to be this way, John. I thought you finally understood. Why do you continue to believe you can still protect her?"

"No, that's not it, Wyndam" he whispered through the pain. They both knew it was a lie.

"Perhaps we should show Annie your true self, so she will not be inclined to want your protection." Wyndam's anger was palpable, and Mitchell shook his head, jaw tight against the pain, unable to tell Wyndam anything.

"Annie, have you ever seen John feed?" Wyndam did not take his eyes off of Mitchell. "Ever seen how he satisfies his hunger so willingly, so often now?"

"No, don't," Mitchell whispered, pleading and fear in his voice.

Annie slowly shook her head, fear now gripping her. She was afraid because of what Wyndam was saying, but more so because Mitchell was afraid. Wyndam straightened up and walked back to stand near Annie.

"I think it's time you did," Wyndam told her, his eyes on Mitchell.

Suddenly, the pain in Mitchell's head shifted, and That Hunger, the one that needed Wyndam blood, consumed him. Head snapping up, eyes solid shiny black and fangs showing, Mitchell hissed. Scrambling up, his black eyes passed over Annie and found Wyndam. He took a step toward Wyndam but stopped when Wyndam held up a hand. Mitchell didn';t move, That Hunger gnawing at him, his black eyes seeing only Wyndam.

"Mitchell!" Annie cried but he didn't respond. "Stop it!" Annie yelled at Wyndam. "Leave him alone!" Wyndam only smiled. Annie ran for the kitchen, pushing through the swinging doors.

"You can't escape, Annie," Wyndam calmly called after her. "My men are out back. And you can't pop out, I forbid it. What do you call it? Rent-a-ghosting? Yes, you cannot rent-a-ghost until I allow it."

Annie slowly came back into the room, right hand wrapped around her waist and tucked inside her sweater, left hand clutching the sweater closed at the neck.

"Okay, so you explain it," she said to Wyndam. "What was he talking about?" She walked slowly toward Wyndam, trying not to shake. Mitchell had not moved and was still staring at Wyndam, completely oblivious to Annie.

Lawrence had not moved either, but Padraig had taken a step toward Mitchell again and had a look of such sorrow and sympathy, Annie briefly wondered if he was Mitchell's friend. She didn't know if she could get all three of them, but she was damn well going to get Wyndam.

"John is right, you do have power over werewolves," Wyndam told her. "I told you, you're more powerful than even you imagined. I've not seen a ghost quite like you. Yes, you can kill werewolves. But you can also control them when they are transformed. You never figured this out? Not even living under the same roof with two of them?" Wyndam asked her, clearly annoyed. Annie's look of surprise made him smile.

"I'm sure you remember that night George ripped Herrick apart?" Wyndam asked her, and Annie nodded, continuing to move slowly toward him. "Why do you think George didn't come through the door after all of you?"

"How did you…? Because he was in love with Nina, and didn't want to hurt her," Annie answered slowly, carefully. Wyndam laughed out loud.

"What is it with humans and love?" Wyndam did not expect an answer. "No, Annie. George didn't try to kill all of you that night because of you. You made him stay in that room. You didn't want him to hurt anyone, so he didn't. It's the same reason Nina didn't try to hurt you or break out of the room during her first transformation. You stayed with her and controlled her. Yes, yes," he waved away her trying to deny this, "they still raged that night because you didn't know how to fully use your power. But it was you, Annie, not them."

Annie looked at Mitchell, but he was still focused on Wyndam.

"No matter," Wyndam told her dismissively. "I'll teach you, we'll develop and control that power, and it will be very useful to me."

"No one controls me," she told him evenly, sounding braver than she felt. She stepped closer to him. "Someone tried once, and I drove him mad. 'Course, you're already mad, so it will be interesting to see what I can do to you." She took another step toward him.

"Oh, Annie, I do see why Mitchell likes you!" Wyndam laughed, glancing at Mitchell.

Annie suddenly threw herself at Wyndam, whipping her right arm from under her sweater, a wooden stake in her raised hand. She plunged the stake into Wyndam's chest, and then jumped back.

"See how you like that!" she shouted at him, silently thanking George for keeping stakes everywhere. She didn't have time to realize that Wyndam made no attempt to stop her and instead kept laughing. She also didn't realize that the stake barely stuck in his chest.

Wyndam slowly looked down at the stake, the smile never leaving his face, and then looked over at Mitchell.

Suddenly, Mitchell's eyes cleared of the black, and he swayed on his feet, looking down to his chest. His right hand pressed against the blood pouring from the right side of his chest. He staggered and fell back onto the sofa, the pain registering, and he started to shake.

"Mitchell!" Annie screamed, running to Mitchell. Padraig grabbed her and pulled her away from him.

"You are going to be so entertaining," Wyndam laughed at Annie. "I must say though, it's a good thing for John that you're aim was off!"

Wyndam glanced at Lawrence. Eyes narrowed and teeth clenched, Lawrence had his own hand pressed against his chest. There was no blood spilling from him, but he was in pain.

Without looking down, Wyndam easily removed the stake and handed it to Lawrence. The look of pain left Lawrence's face, and he let go of his chest. There was no blood spilling from Wyndam, and only a light coating of blood on the tip of the stake. Lawrence broke the stake apart with his hands, letting the pieces fall to the floor.

At the same moment, the blood pouring from Mitchell's chest slowed, but did not completely stop. He laid his head on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes.

Padraig slowly let go of Annie, and bent down to look at Mitchell.

"What did you do to him?" Annie whispered.

"I didn't do anything, Annie," Wyndam told her with a smile. "You did that to him."

"But how?" she asked with confusion. "I staked you."

"A small consequence of John's return to his true self. Suffice it to say, any injury to me will be…unhealthy…for him." Wyndam's tone and smile were patronizing.

"Help him!" Annie cried, looking from Wyndam to Padraig.

"Sir," Padraig started. "He's lost a lot of blood."

"He's fine, Padraig," Wyndam said. "He needs my blood, and we'll get to that. But first," Wyndam turned to face Annie. "This temper tantrum? Really, it is most unbecoming. I would suggest you reconsider before trying to hurt me again, as John may not survive it." Wyndam's smile was mocking.

"Come along, Annie, it's time for you to go," Wyndam nodded at Lawrence, who took a step toward her.

"No," Annie told him, backing away. "I'm not going anywhere with you. I don't believe you can control me, or that I can hurt werewolves. And even if I could, I would never do it!"

"You are stubborn, aren't you? Just like him. Why must you both learn things the hard way?" Wyndam sighed, shaking his head. "Very well, we'll start small. Annie, pop into the kitchen and find a small sharp knife. Be careful of the mess you've made," he said, waving his hand toward the kitchen.

Annie disappeared and reappeared in the kitchen, stepping on the broken dishes that covered the floor. She couldn't stop herself from opening one of the drawers and withdrawing George's small paring knife. She tried to drop it back in the drawer, and throw it down on the counter, but she couldn't.

"Annie," Wyndam called to her, "bring me the knife."

Suddenly, Annie was standing in front of Wyndam. He held out his hand for the knife, and smiled indulgently at her. Annie's right hand shook, trying not to give it to him. She glanced up at him then back to her hand moving slowly toward his. She grabbed her wrist with her left hand, trying to force her hands away from Wyndam, but she couldn't. She tried to back away from Wyndam, but couldn't move. Against her will, her fingers opened and she dropped the knife in his hand.

"That should satisfy," he told her, handing the knife to Lawrence. She gaped at him, not believing what she'd just done. "It's really very simple, Annie. I possess the box," he patted his jacket pocket where he had placed the box, "I possess you. Were you not listening to Rose? Acchh, no matter. Time to go," Wyndam said, again turning to Lawrence.

"No! Mitchell!" Annie tried to go to him, but Padraig blocked her way. Mitchell was still on the sofa, trying to sit up. Blood was still oozing from the right side of his chest. He finally pushed himself to a sitting position.

"Wyndam…" Mitchell croaked. "Wait."

"ENOUGH!" Wyndam roared. "I have had enough of you today, John. You will stay here tonight. Padraig will bring you home tomorrow. I suggest you consider carefully the attitude you bring back."

Mitchell tried to stand up, but succeeded only in falling to the floor. Padraig did not try to help him. With great effort, Mitchell maneuvered himself into a sitting position on the floor, leaning back against the sofa. He was shaking.

"Please, don't do this to her," he asked weakly. "Whatever you want. Just…please, not her…" Wyndam strode to where Mitchell sat and yanked his head up by the hair. The anger in Wyndam's eyes was real, and barely controlled.

"You will do whatever I want, regardless of her!" Once again, Mitchell knew he'd angered Wyndam, but the thought of what Wyndam would do to Annie terrified him. He closed his eyes against the pain running through him, and tried to shake his head.

"I thought you were ready for this, but apparently not," Wyndam told him softly, through clenched teeth. "I think you may need a bit more time in your special room. It will be waiting for you tomorrow."

"No! Wyndam, it's not what you…just listen to me," Mitchell whispered, but Wyndam pushed him away in disgust and he fell over onto the floor.

* * *

><p><strong>"...and then there are the history makers..."<strong>

* * *

><p>Bending low, George crept up in the grass toward the parked car, and then knelt down behind the bushes lining the parking area. He stayed far enough to the side of the parking area that the guards wouldn't see him. The car was facing the garage, so he'd only have to get to one of the rear doors to get to Nina. He was just a few meters from her, but had no way of signaling her. He gripped the stake in his right hand, and again felt his jeans pocket making sure the car keys were there. Heart racing, he watched as Carl and Tom approached the car.<p>

The two vampires guarding the car stood on either side of it, and had their backs to the car. One was tall and thin, the other shorter and heavyset. Their heads swiveled back and forth between the garage, and the lawn and the drive, scanning for anything. The third vampire had taken to patrolling back and forth across the parking area, up near the garage. His feet crunched against the pebble stones that covered the parking area, creating an echo. George couldn't see him very well, but the light from the garage behind him cast an odd shadow onto the pebbles. It made George think of a floating ghost, and he thought of Annie.

He again wished that Annie had answered the house phone.

None of the vampires carried any weapon that George could see, and he wasn't surprised. Their arrogance would make them believe they didn't need weapons because they were so much stronger and faster than humans. That also meant they weren't expecting an attack by two werewolves and a vampire.

The garage door was open, and there was a car parked on the far left. From what George could see, it looked like the taxi he and Nina had used from the hospital. Yeah, of course. He wouldn't fall for that again.

George held his breath as he watched Carl steal up on the tall, thin vampire on the far side of the car, and Tom close in on the shorter one nearest to George. In George's mind, the two guards became Thin Man and Plump Guy. Laurel and Hardy. George felt nervous laughter bubbling up in him, and bit his tongue to keep from laughing out loud.

Carl had left his coat in the car, the better to move. The long sleeves of his black shirt were buttoned tight around his wrists, and the shirt was tucked tightly into his jeans. No loose clothing to get in the way. Even his shoes were black. Almost upon Laurel, Carl moved fast over the last few steps, so fast that he was almost blurry to George. He was also completely silent, his shoes making no noise on the pebbles. It was unnatural, at least for George, until he realized that Carl had done this many times before and was very used to sneaking up on people without making a sound. George said a silent thank you that Carl was on their side tonight.

Watching as Tom made his way toward Hardy, George's adrenaline kicked up another notch. He was ready to help if needed, and to go for Nina. He hoped Tom's light gray tee shirt wouldn't give him away in the bit of moonlight, but there was nothing for it now. In his right hand, Tom carried the long wooden stake that had belonged to McNair, in his left was another shorter stake. Two more stakes were tucked into his belt, ready for quick use. Tom bent low, and made his way toward Hardy.

They both reached Laurel and Hardy at almost the same moment, timing it to catch the unsuspecting vampires when they were looking toward the garage.

Carl silently lunged, just as Laurel whipped his head around, something alerting him. Raising his left arm, Laurel was able to block Carl from driving the stake home. But Carl was faster, quickly twisting away and to the left, while pivoting around and ducking under Laurel's outstretched arm. Pushing up and forward, Carl rammed the stake into the vampire's heart. It all happened in the span of a few human heartbeats, and Laurel was smoke and ash before he could yell for help.

At the same time as Carl's attack, Tom lunged at Hardy driving the long stake into his back. Hardy didn't have time to even look at Tom before turning to ash and smoke, swirling away into the night.

Not waiting to watch Laurel or Hardy die, Carl ran to the third vampire near the garage. This one saw Carl coming and was able to defend against him, blocking Carl's arm and holding back the stake aimed for his heart. He was yelling for Samuel while struggling with Carl.

Tom ran to help Carl, pulling another stake from his belt. He had not quite reached Carl when Samuel came running from the house and through the garage.

George didn't wait any longer. Seeing Laurel and Hardy disintegrate, he rushed to the car and yanked open the right rear door.

"Noooo!" Nina screamed, ready to fight, not knowing what was happening.

"Nina, it's me!" George yelled at her.

"George? George! Oh my God!" Nina cried, reaching for him, and wrapping her arms around his neck. The attack had been so fast, she hadn't had time to realize it was Tom and Carl coming to her rescue. She choked on the tears she'd been fighting.

"Nina, thank God! Come on," George reached into the car to help her get out.

Suddenly, George was yanked from behind, and thrown onto the pebbles. He skittered a few feet, and then turned and jumped up, facing the vampire that had come running from the house. It was Gina, the blond vampire that watched them in the hospital since that first day.

"Hello, George," she grinned at him. "Seems I get to teach you a new trick – how to die!" she laughed.

George charged at her, but she sidestepped and George ran into the car. He whirled about, stake held tight in his hand. She smiled at him, and slowly started toward him. George matched her steps, and moved away from the car, away from Nina.

"Nina, go!" George said, keeping the stake raised. Nina clambered out of the car, and started away from them, but the vampire stepped toward her, and Nina backed up.

"New orders, dog. We can kill you. Don't worry, we'll take very good care of your bitch. At least until the cub is born," Gina taunted. He didn't answer her, and waited. It wasn't long. She darted forward, eyes black and fangs showing, hissing at George. George held his ground, waiting for her. She lunged at him, hands raised and fingers clawed. As she came at him, close enough to almost touch him, George fainted a step to his right, and then stepped backward and to the left. She lunged to the right and then tried to correct herself, but it was too late. George spun around, and with the weight of his body, he drove the stake through her back. She fell onto the pebbles, face first, and turned to ash and smoke.

George was shaking from the effort, and the adrenaline.

"George, let's go!" Nina grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him toward the drive. "Let's go!"

George nodded, and they started down the drive, away from the house. He heard Samuel yelling for help, and the fight near the garage sounded like it was escalating. He risked a quick look back, and saw the third guard lying on the ground, and then saw Tom fall to the ground, Samuel standing over him. He slowed down, wanting to go back and help Tom, but Nina pulled at his arm. He kept looking back at the fight while heading down the drive, and saw Carl plunge a stake into Samuel's back. Samuel fell to his knees, but didn't disintegrate. Vampires came running from the house, and Carl moved away from Samuel and ran to follow George and Nina. Some of the vampires started after him, but then someone yelled, and the vampires all stopped, turning back to the garage. The last George saw, the vampires were gathered around Samuel as he struggled to stand up. George cursed under his breath that Samuel was still alive.

Nina stumbled on the pebbles, and George grabbed her around the waist and half carried her down the drive and toward the street. Once onto the road, Nina tried to run, but her large belly wouldn't let her. She wrapped her hands protectively around her middle, and broke into a half-jog, half-power walk. George finally bent down and picked her up, cradling her in his arms as he ran for the car. He kept expecting to be grabbed from behind, and the thought made him run faster. They finally made it to the car, and scrambled in through the same door. Just as George started the car, Carl yanked open the back door and jumped in.

"Go! Go! Go!" Carl yelled. George could hear yelling and shouting coming from the drive of the house, and knew the vampires were now coming after them.

"What about Tom?" George yelled.

"Just go! We can't help him! Go!" Carl shouted.

George yelled, and slammed the car into gear, flooring the accelerator. Tires squealing, the car shot out onto the road, swerving wildly. It took a few moments, but George finally got control of the car, and they sped away from the house.

Carl kept watch out the back window, but after several twists and turns on the roads, there was no sign of anyone following them.

"What happened to Tom?" Nina asked. Carl didn't answer, and she turned to look at him. "Carl, what happened to him?"

"Samuel got hold of him around the neck and shoulders," Carl told her softly. "I heard bones break. I couldn't get to him."

"Oh, God," Nina said, feeling sick, really sick.

"Shit," George said at the same time.

"I'm sorry." Carl's tone was even.

"Shit!" George screamed, hitting the steering wheel. None of them spoke for several moments, Nina crying softly.

"That was too easy," Carl finally said, looking out the rear window.

"What?" George's asked in a high voice. "That was not easy!"

"Yes, it was," Carl told him. "They should have caught us before we reached the car."

"Shit! Why? Why would they let us get away?"

Carl shook his head, not having an answer. He didn't like it.

"Nina, are you okay? Did they hurt you?" George asked, looking over at her.

"No, I'm okay. They actually made sure I wasn't hurt. Oh, no, can't hurt the history-making baby!" There was disgust, and more than a little hysteria in her voice. "I hate them, George. I want them all dead! Proper dead!" George reached over and squeezed her arm. Carl didn't say anything.

"Its okay, Nina," he told her. "We'll go somewhere that they can't find us." She didn't answer.

"Carl, thank you," George said. "I couldn't have done this without you."

"Don't thank me yet, George. We still need to get very far away."

"So what do we do?" George asked him.

"Change your plan," Carl told him. "Wherever you were going, change it. For the immediate, don't do the opposite, just do something different." Carl continued to check the rear window, expecting to see someone behind them.

"George," Nina asked. "What are we going do? We have to get to Annie, we don't have any money, and now Tom? What do we...?" her voice broke. George shook his head, not having an answer.

Nina couldn't hold back the tears anymore, and she sobbed, holding onto her stomach. She was sobbing and trying to gulp air, and bordering on hysterical. Carl leaned forward and put a hand on her shoulder. She jumped away from him, screaming.

"Nina! Nina, stop!" George shouted. "Stop! Breathe, Nina, breathe, calm down. Just breathe," he told her softening his voice. She looked at him and nodded, taking deep breaths in between sobs. Finally, the sobbing stopped and she kept taking deep breaths in between hiccups.

"I'm sorry, Nina," Carl said. "I didn't mean to scare you." She just shook her head at him, unable to speak.

"Carl, try ringing Annie again." George was desperate to warn Annie, knowing Wyndam's thugs would be heading to the house, if they weren't there already. "We've got to warn her!"

Carl dialed the number George gave him, and handed the mobile to Nina. Annie would believe it when she heard Nina's voice. After several rings, Nina closed the mobile.

"There's no answer, George," she told him. "Why isn't the machine picking up?" George shook his head. He had no idea why Annie wasn't answering or why the machine didn't pick up, but he was getting a very bad feeling.

"I saw you stake Samuel. Why didn't he die?" George asked.

"Samuel has been drinking the blood of the Old Ones for a very long time. It makes him...stronger than most." Carl looked out the side windows, checking for any threat.

"You mean Wyndam?"

"No, not Wyndam," Carl shook his head. "Other Old Ones. Wyndam is very selective in who he gives his blood to."

"Did Mitchell…?" George started to ask. "What is it about Mitchell that has Wyndam so….so…whatever Wyndam is about him?"

"I don't know. I've heard that Wyndam has been watching him for a long time, but I don't know why. And the answer to your question is yes."

"You mean Mitchell has…Wyndam's blood…is that why…" George couldn't finish the sentence.

"Yes. Wyndam has been feeding his blood to Mitchell," Carl was matter-of-fact. "That's why you can't help him. Not anymore. It's also why he's so dangerous." They were all silent for several minutes.

"He's still human," George whispered. "I know that part of him is in there somewhere. He didn't kill me today." Nina choked and rolled her eyes at George, but he waved a hand at her to shush her.

"No, he didn't, and Wyndam will make sure he knows he failed today. Trust me, George, if being human is still something Mitchell has in mind, Wyndam will rip it out of him." Carl paused. "I'm sorry, but you can't help him."

"What about you?" George asked. "Can you help him?" Carl didn't answer for several moments.

"I don't know," Carl finally said. "He may not have killed you today, but he was part of Nina's kidnapping. It depends on how much, if any, of his humanity is still there. Wyndam's goal is to destroy anything human in Mitchell, to make him truly vampire. He's had over a month to do just that. And Wyndam does not fail. I think you need to accept that your friend, the Mitchell that was your friend, is gone. Instead, you should focus on your new lives."

George didn't answer, but his stomach was roiling and in knots. He had not given up on Mitchell through anything, and now he had to not only give up on him but also run from him. It was just too much.

"Will you try?" George whispered to Carl.

"Let's get you and Nina safe first, and then I'll consider it." It was the best answer Carl could give him.

"So, what now?" Nina asked. "What are we going to do? We have no money, we don't know where Annie is, and Tom…" her voice broke.

"I can help with money," Carl offered. "And new identification papers. But we need to get to Liverpool for that."

"Are you sure?" George asked. "They've got to be looking for you, after this."

"That doesn't matter," Carl told him. "We need to get you and Nina out of the country."

"Where the hell are we going to go?" Nina asked, panic in her voice.

"Wyndam will expect you to try to get to Europe, to disappear," Carl told them. "Instead, we'll get you to Ireland, then to Canada or maybe the States." Carl silently hoped they'd make it. "From there, you can go anywhere. But you need to be aware that every vampire in the world will be looking for you. Wherever you end up, it needs to be hidden and away from the cities." George nodded, that making sense.

"We'll also need a new car before morning," Carl continued. "They'll track this one as soon as it's reported stolen."

George didn't say anything, but had to clamped his mouth shut, fighting back tears of his own. First Mitchell, now Tom. How many friends was he going to lose? And what about Annie? Where was she and how did he get to her? And how the hell was he going to keep Nina safe? It was George who now took deep breaths trying to calm the panic that was setting in.

Knowing he had no choice but to trust Carl, George took the back roads out of Barry, and headed north. Toward Liverpool.

oooooooooo


	25. Chapter 25

"…**you're going to come in useful one day."**

* * *

><p>Annie pushed past Padraig, or rather Padraig let her push past him, and she knelt beside Mitchell. Leaning over him, a hand on either side of his face, she called his name and he opened his eyes, smiling weakly at her. She carefully helped him sit up.<p>

"Are you all ri…" Annie started to ask him.

Lawrence's mobile rang, and he turned away to answer it. He quickly turned back to Wyndam, eyes wide and mouth open.

"What?" Wyndam snapped at him, still annoyed.

"We have a problem."

"What problem?"

"George escaped," Lawrence told him as he listened to someone on the other end of the call. "He made it to the main residence. Tom and another helped him. There was a fight, and three of them got away, including Nina." Lawrence reported.

"What the hell do you mean, they got away?" Wyndam said through clenched teeth.

"They got away?" Annie was confused. She thought George and Nina were at work. "Where were they?" No one answered her.

"George and the other one got away with the female. Three of ours – Eric, Ryan and Gina - are dead, as is the werewolf, Tom. Samuel and Allan were injured, but not seriously."

"Tom is dead?" Annie asked breathlessly, eyes wide and full of shock. She looked at Mitchell, but he didn't have an answer. Padraig walked behind Wyndam and around the coffee table to stand on the other side of Mitchell. He gave Annie a warning look and motioned for her to stay quiet.

"Three are dead, AND the wolves got away?" Wyndam didn't bother to comment about Tom. Lawrence nodded.

"What? Say that again," Lawrence said into the mobile, and then glanced at Mitchell before looking at Wyndam.

"What?" Wyndam demanded.

"The one helping him - it was one of ours," Lawrence said evenly. "Carl."

Wyndam rounded on Mitchell, anger flashing, eyes black.

"What did you do?" Wyndam said each word distinctly.

"Nothing..." Mitchell said, holding his bloody hands out. "That was before…Bristol. I didn't…nothing," Mitchell shook his head and winced in pain at the effort to move.

"How did he know to come here, and how did he find George?" Wyndam asked too quietly.

"Carl's back?" Annie asked, unable to follow what was happening, still shocked over what was said about the others.

"Lawrence!" Wyndam barked. Lawrence went to Annie and pulled her away from Mitchell. She struggled against him, trying to stay with Mitchell, but Lawrence dragged her to the bar, and held her there. She tried to rent-a-ghost away from him, but nothing happened. She could only watch as Wyndam slowly approached Mitchell.

"John," Wyndam said, too controlled, "what did you do?" Mitchell didn't speak, hands still pressing against his chest. Slowly, his eyes closed.

"He needs blood, sir" Padraig said quietly, kneeling down to look at Mitchell.

"He's going to need more than that!" Wyndam raged, grabbing the end of the coffee table and hurling it out of the way. It smashed into the wall and shattered into pieces. Padraig fell across Mitchell, trying to protect him from the flying pieces of wood.

"MOVE!" Wyndam shouted. Padraig scrambled up and took a step backward toward the wall. With his left hand, Wyndam grabbed Mitchell by the shirt front and hauled him up from the floor with one hand, until Mitchell was looking into Wyndam's eyes.

"WHAT. DID. YOU. DO?" Wyndam not only said it, he drove every word into Mitchell's mind with a fury that made Mitchell cringe.

Mitchell lowered his head, not answering. Wyndam hissed and shook him viciously, demanding an answer.

"Nothing," Mitchell whispered. "Left him, in the cage."

"John, do not lie to me again. What did you tell George?"

"George was in a cage?" Annie interrupted. "What cage? Mitchell, what did you do?"

"Annie, be quiet!" Wyndam told her with an intensity that scared her. She leaned back into Lawrence, closing her mouth. "Go, sit!" he ordered, pointing to one of the bar stools. Unable to defy Wyndam's order, Annie moved to the stool and sat down, tears in her eyes. Wyndam glared at her with satisfaction, and then turned his attention back to Mitchell.

Mitchell's eyes started to roll back into his head, and Wyndam threw him down onto the sofa. Mitchell groaned at the pain in his chest.

"Explain. Now." Wyndam stood over him, right hand clenched into a fist.

"I don't know, Wyndam, I don't..." Mitchell said weakly. "I tried to get a message to Carl, back then, but had no idea if…that's why I set things up with Madelaine." Mitchell drew a ragged breath. "But then you…I came to Bristol, and Madelaine was taken care of, so I didn't think..." Mitchell's voice trailed off, seeing that Wyndam was not believing him.

"Sir?" Padraig said quietly.

"Not now, Padraig." Wyndam now paced back and forth, glaring at Mitchell.

"Actually, sir," Padraig said hesitantly. Wyndam spun around and skewered Padraig with his stare. Padraig swallowed nervously.

"What?" Wyndam's tone was deceptively quiet.

"It wasn't Mitchell," Padraig said evenly. "It was me."

Wyndam went very still.

"It was you, what?" Too quiet.

"I told…" Padraig's voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "Carl called me, but I didn't know it was him. I only knew it was a vampire that knew Mitchell. He said Mitchell had called him, and that I should let George know he would help, if needed. After Mitchell and I spoke in Bristol, I thought it was what Mitchell was supposed to do and had set up, so I did it. I told George someone was coming to help him."

"Páidí, no," Mitchell said weakly.

"Be quiet, John," Wyndam ordered.

"No, it wasn't him." Mitchell struggled to sit up on the edge of the sofa. "It was…"

"Mitchell, stop," Padraig interrupted. Looking at Wyndam, Padraig nodded. "It was me. I also told George where to find Nina."

So fast that he didn't see it coming, Padraig felt Wyndam's hand around his throat and the wall slam into his back. Right hand around Padraig's throat, Wyndam used his left to grab hold of the left side of Padraig's head, ready to tear his head from his body. Padraig started to struggle, but Wyndam lifted him by the throat until his feet were no longer on the floor.

"Wyndam, no! Wait!" Mitchell shouted weakly. Wyndam stopped, and glanced over his shoulder at Mitchell, waiting.

"In Bristol, I thought…I knew you would eventually tell me to kill George," Mitchell said quickly. "So, before those last few days, I asked Padraig to help me. To help George stay alive, to help him get away."

"Mitchell," Padraig croaked, but Wyndam squeezed his throat tighter, and Padraig could no longer speak. Wyndam continued to look at Mitchell, waiting.

"After those last days with you, I was…confused. Some things, I wasn't sure if they'd happened, or…or if I'd dreamed them. Asking Padraig to help George was one of those things. I thought I dreamed it. But I did want to save George. I wanted to save them all."

Wyndam didn't respond, but did not let go of Padraig. Mitchell pushed himself to a standing position, the pain making him suck in his breath. He turned to face Wyndam.

"Padraig is not at fault here, Wyndam. I am. I betrayed you and let you down. I'm the one you need to end." Mitchell swayed on his feet, but remained standing. Annie gasped, but Lawrence warned her to stay quiet.

Padraig tapped on Wyndam's arm, trying to get his attention. When Wyndam looked at him, he shook his head once, telling Wyndam not to do so. Wyndam suddenly released Padraig, sending him crashing to the floor on top of bits of coffee table.

"Do not move," Wyndam told Padraig, pointing at him. Padraig nodded, and stayed on the floor.

Wyndam slowly walked over to Mitchell and stood in front of him.

"What did I tell you about asking me to end you? What did I promise you?" Wyndam said through clenched teeth.

Mitchell tried to return Wyndam's gaze, but his eyes kept blurring and he was swaying on his feet, the blood loss taking its toll. He didn't answer. Without warning, Wyndam pushed Mitchell backward, onto the sofa.

"How convenient." Wyndam's sarcasm was lost on Mitchell as he fell over onto his side, too weak to sit up.

"Lawrence," Wyndam said, "contact Thomas. Tell him there's been a problem, and it seems Padraig was involved. I will deal with the situation, but he may want to stop by." Lawrence turned, mobile already in hand. He spoke softly for a moment, then turned back to Wyndam and nodded. Padraig briefly closed his eyes, knowing Thomas would be furious.

Removing his jacket and handing it to Lawrence, Wyndam unbuttoned and rolled up his right sleeve. Glancing at Annie, he did not smile.

"Annie, you will see firsthand that John is not human, how he belongs to me now. Don't ever doubt that he will do what I require of him, even regarding you." Wyndam gestured to Lawrence. Stepping behind the sofa, Lawrence pulled Mitchell to a sitting position and turned him to face Annie, holding him there.

Wyndam held his arm out to Mitchell, waiting. Mitchell tried to turn his head away, not wanting to do this in front of Annie, but Lawrence forced it back. Mitchell tried to push away from Lawrence, but was too weak to do so.

"Wyndam, no," Mitchell said weakly. "Don't."

"Stop this!" Annie screamed. "Leave him alone!"

"No. You will both understand what John is, and cease in this idiotic idea that he can be human. That he is human. He is not." Wyndam held his hand out toward Lawrence.

Lawrence gave him the knife Annie brought from the kitchen, and Wyndam made a small cut on his own wrist. Dark blood trickled onto his skin. He held his wrist near Mitchell's mouth, and waited. The promise in the blood flooded Mitchell's senses, and unbidden, his tongue flicked out over the blood. Trying to control himself, he stopped breathing and shut his eyes tightly, denying his body what it so desperately needed.

_Drink, _whispered in his mind. He still tried to deny it, clamping his jaw shut.

The Hunger suddenly flashed through him and he could no longer ignore the need. Eyes snapping open and flashing black, he sank his fangs into Wyndam's wrist, drawing the dark blood into his mouth and down his throat. He drank weakly, closing his eyes as his injured body took control. Then he felt the sensations and the power of Wyndam's blood flow through him and he drank frantically, grabbing and holding onto Wyndam's wrist.

"Oh, Mitchell," Annie cried as her eyes filled with tears.

Mitchell's eyes snapped open at the sound. He stared at her with his shiny black eyes while he continued to drink. Then he closed his eyes and drank deeper, lost in the euphoria.

oooooooooo

It didn't take long before Wyndam pushed him away, and Mitchell fell back against the sofa, blood smeared around his mouth. Wyndam turned to Annie and smiled. She didn't like That Smile. It frightened her. It also made her want to slap him.

"As I said, John is vampire," Wyndam was patronizing again, "and only vampire. He belongs to me, to our world. Don't ever doubt that, Annie. It could be disastrous for you."

Mitchell kept his eyes closed, not caring what Wyndam was telling her, too intent on feeling the euphoria as the blood flowed through him. In just moments, he felt the euphoria start to leave him. He was better, but knew he wasn't healed. He would need more blood for that. He was still weak, but opened his eyes and sat up, wiping his mouth on his shirt sleeve. His eyes on Annie, a slight grin touched his lips. Annie looked away from him.

"Now," Wyndam said wiping the blood from his wrist with his pocket handkerchief. "You will show me, word for word, what happened that night you talked with Padraig, and what happened today," Wyndam told Mitchell. "Annie, pay attention. More proof that John belongs to me."

"Mitchell, what is he talking about?" Annie asked.

"Stay outta this, Annie!" Mitchell snapped at her.

"Good advice," Wyndam told him. "Now."

Mitchell nodded and sat back. He didn't move as he felt the familiar brushing across his mind. Then it came fast, and was demanding and hurtful and felt like a shredder was ripping through his mind. He couldn't move or speak, and the sudden pain brought tears to his eyes. He felt Wyndam's anger sorting through word for word of his conversation with Padraig, and his meeting with George. It was sharp and cutting and unforgiving, and then suddenly it was gone. Mitchell's head fell back, exhaustion spreading through him.

Blinking, Mitchell tried to focus but felt heady and off balance, a combination of the euphoria and pain and exhaustion. He faintly heard Annie calling his name but it was several moments before he could lift his head. When he did, he saw Wyndam looking down at Padraig on the floor.

"Mitchell, what was..." Annie started.

"Shut up, Annie!" Mitchell whispered. Wyndam turned to Annie, and held a finger to his lips, quietly shushing her.

"Your turn, Padraig, and do not try to keep anything from me," Wyndam said quietly, looking down at him. Padraig opened his mouth to explain, but Wyndam shook his head and pointed to Padraig's head.

"How…" Padraig started to ask, not understanding how Wyndam could see into his mind when Wyndam wasn't his maker. Wisely, he didn't finish asking the question.

Swallowing nervously, Padraig nodded and shifted so he was sitting up against the wall. Wyndam went to Padraig, and knelt on one knee, looking him in the eyes. A few moments later, Padraig cried out in pain but did not look away from Wyndam. His eyes wanted to close against the pain, but they wouldn't. Finally, Wyndam released him, and Padraig sagged sideways to the floor.

"You two are unbelievable," Wyndam hissed. "Have you learned nothing? You know better, Padraig. I expected more from you. Very disappointing." Padraig didn't answer, and was still trying to push himself to a sitting position.

"You, "Wyndam said pointing at Padraig, "will explain this to Thomas, and accept whatever punishment he decides for you. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Padraig whispered.

"Good. I will request that he not end you, but it is his decision," Wyndam warned. Padraig nodded his understanding.

"Wyndam," Mitchell started, trying to stand up, but not recovered enough to do so. "This is mine, not Padraig's. This is on me."

"Most of it, yes. But Padraig knows what is expected of him. He should have come to me, or to Thomas."

"Sir," Padraig finally struggled to his feet. "I understand. But I have to say that what Mitchell did, he did to help you achieve your objective."

"You are close to a line you do not want to cross, Padraig," Wyndam told him. "I suggest you keep quiet now."

"But, sir, you didn't see the dog's face, or his reaction to Mitchell. I have to agree with Mitchell that the best way to accomplish what you want is to keep the dog alive."

"What do you think you saw from the dog today?" Wyndam's annoyance made it clear he really didn't care what Padraig thought.

"Mitchell was ready to kill him, and..." Padraig started.

"Mitchell!" Annie gasped, her hand going to her mouth. Mitchell still didn't look at her.

"Yes, Annie, I told you," Wyndam did not smile, "he is one of us. Now, do not speak again until I tell you to."

Annie opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to speak, but nothing would come out. She tried to scream, but nothing. She looked to Mitchell for help, but he just shook his head at her.

Wyndam motioned for Padraig to continue.

"I stopped him from doing so," Padraig said, "because I could see that Mitchell was right. He wasn't betraying you, sir. He believed the only way to control both of them is with the other. I saw for myself how George feels about her, and I believe Mitchell was right in leaving him alive. Mitchell was even able to get George to offer to submit to you, if you would just release the female."

"And why did you tell him where the female was?" Wyndam asked.

"Because Mitchell needed it," Padraig answered evenly. "You asked me to help him through this, and I thought that was what he needed, to move on to this," Padraig nodded at Annie.

"I see. And when did I instruct you to completely disobey my orders and allow the dog to go free?" Wyndam asked quietly. Padraig opened his mouth to answer, then closed it, then opened it again. His confusion played out across his face.

"I don't…," Padraig started. "You didn't, but Mitchell…" Padraig couldn't answer the question. He didn't really know why he'd told George where to find Nina. "I thought it was what you wanted, to…Mitchell was so sure and it made so much sense, I thought it was what you wanted as well." Saying it out loud, it sounded hollow even to Padraig, and he realized he'd done the complete opposite of what Wyndam ordered. But earlier he had been so sure. His confusion only grew.

"Your confusion is understandable, Padraig. Not excusable, but understandable. You're basic assumption is wrong. John did not act on his desire to do as I instructed, or to help with today's objectives. He acted because of his continuing desire to think of himself as human, to be part of their world and to protect them. He is still trying to play both sides. He used you to help him with that." Padraig shook his head, still confused. Wyndam turned to Mitchell.

"Tell him, John. Tell Padraig exactly what you did." Wyndam's order was quiet but not to be disobeyed. Mitchell tried to think of a way to explain this, to justify this, but Wyndam raised his eyebrows at him in warning and Mitchell sighed.

"Páidí, I'm sorry," Mitchell said softly. "He's right. That night we spoke, I didn't want George to die. He was my friend and I wanted to protect him. I knew at some point Wyndam would order me to kill him, or worse, and you were the one person that could stop me from doing so. I told you what you needed to know to help me save him." Mitchell looked at his friend, accepting the anger he saw there.

"Tell him the rest, John," Wyndam demanded softly.

"Tonight, the moment I saw George, I knew what I'd asked you to do, and I knew it went against what Wyndam had ordered. And I still let you do it, so I could save George. I'm sorry." Mitchell shook his head at his friend, but Padraig clenched his jaw, not trusting himself to speak.

"John betrayed me, his maker," Wyndam said. "And he betrayed you, his friend, for the sake of a dog and a ghost. He is new to his remaking, and therefore his actions are somewhat understandable. They are unacceptable, but somewhat understandable. But you, Padraig, you knew a vampire was coming to help the dog, and you gave the dog the location of the female. And you told no one. You deliberately disobeyed my instructions. You chose loyalty to your friend over your oath and loyalty to your maker, and to me." Wyndam said it quietly, but Padraig felt the weight of his words.

"Both of you behaved in a way that will not be tolerated." Wyndam was silent for several moments, staring at Mitchell. The words 'oath and loyalty' startled Mitchell and he briefly wondered what Wyndam meant, but then pushed that thought away, trying to think of a way out of this.

"This is what is going to happen," Wyndam said, a decision made. "You, John, will be reminded of what you are and why you are here. Starting this very night, you will be reminded of your true needs. By morning, you will embrace those needs. By morning you will know who you are bound to. By morning, you will do what is required of you without question. If any of those things do not happen, I will make every day of your long existence a living nightmare."

"Wyndam, no, I already…" Mitchell started, but stopped at the look from Wyndam. Mitchell closed his eyes, dreading what he knew was coming. That Hunger would again consume him, and he knew he was too weak to fight it, to fight Wyndam. He would give in to it. He frowned when he realized a part of him was relieved by the thought.

"Padraig," Wyndam continued, "you will be reminded of your oath and where your loyalty must always be. I will personally take care of this, as you were in my service when this…confusion occurred. It seems you need a stronger influence than Thomas has been giving you."

"No!" Mitchell said loudly, but quickly lowered his voice at Wyndam's glare. "Wyndam, no, he's not at fault here, don't…"

"Be quiet. My decision is made." Wyndam turned to Annie.

"Lawrence, I think it's time Annie headed to Bristol, so we can begin the proper development of her powers," Wyndam said, putting on his suit jacket. He patted the pocket that held the wooden box.

"As of now, John, you will…" The front door crashed open against the wall, interrupting Wyndam. Thomas came striding into the room, followed by Samuel.

Thomas gave Wyndam a quick glance, and in a blur, went straight for Padraig, grabbing him and throwing him to the floor. His left hand gripping Padraig's throat, he drew back his right arm, his fist ready to punch into Padraig's chest. Padraig instinctively clawed at Thomas' fingers around his throat.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Thomas raged at Padraig.

Padraig couldn't speak, the grip on his throat too tight, but he did stop trying to free himself. He stopped moving and waited for the death blow that he knew he deserved. Seeing the fury on thomas' face, anguish raked through him that he had so disappointed his maker.

"Thomas, no!" Wyndam shouted, and Thomas paused. "Let him go," Wyndam said quietly. Mitchell stood up, ready to help Padraig, but froze at the look from Wyndam.

"No!" Thomas bellowed. "He deserves to have his heart ripped out!"

"I agree, Thomas," Wyndam said calmly, "but that doesn't help us. Let him go."

Thomas stayed as he was for several moments, his right hand shaking, fingers clenching and unclenching, rage on his face. Padraig simply waited, his eyes full of apologetic sorrow, taking in his maker's face for a last time. Finally, Thomas roared and picked Padraig up by the throat, throwing him across the room, sending him crashing into the front table and chairs. Careening into the wall beneath the windows, Padraig landed in a heap on the floor. Mitchell heard his ribs break. Padraig grabbed at his middle, but did not make a sound, too surprised that he had not been ended.

"I told you, Edgar," Thomas rounded on Wyndam, pointing at Mitchell. "He is no good for this. He is too headstrong, and too dangerous. He needs to be ended!"

Mitchell said nothing, but lowered his eyes, not looking at either Wyndam or Thomas. He knew that not only his life, but that of Padraig, was in Wyndam's hands now. Moments ago, he would again have welcomed being ended, to be done with this, to stop the war that always returned to rage inside him. But now, after Wyndam's blood and the brief euphoria, the war had subsided and he was feeling better. There had to be a way to do this, to have this life without the overwhelming chaos and terror. He'd have to convince Wyndam that he was well and truly in this, and he could do that. He'd also have to continue feeding, but he could limit that, just as he'd done when Herrick demanded he feed. The important thing was protecting Annie as much as he could. Once in Bristol, he'd convince her to be helpful to Wyndam. She'd have to use her powers, but he'd find a way to limit what she did. And he'd make sure he didn't disappoint Wyndam again. He just had to make sure he didn't disappoint or piss off Wyndam.

"Really, John?" Wyndam was looking at him with That Smile. "You're doing that right now." Mitchell started, Wyndam's blood having made him forget that Wyndam knew his every thought.

_Fuck! _The war ramped up again again. _Now what?_

Wyndam laughed softly. Mitchell sighed and lowered his eyes again.

"It was foolish to send him here, Edgar," Thomas continued to rant. "You know this is a dangerous time for a new progeny! Especially with him, the risk of losing him back to them was too great! Look who he used his power against – his own kind, his own friend, for the sake of the dog! And now the contact with the dog and the ghost has allowed all your work to go to waste. He is just as he was a month ago!"

Mitchell's head snapped up at the mention of a power. His power. He wasn't aware of any power that he had. At Wyndam's sharp look, Mitchell looked away.

"Now, Thomas, don't be so dramatic," Wyndam laughed. "John has had a setback, but it is very minor. He was successful in providing the two most important objectives of this operation, and now I can proceed as planned." Wyndam looked at the confusion on Mitchell's face, and smiled.

"That is irrelevant!" Thomas shouted.

"No, it is most relevant." Wyndam was very calm. "John successfully delivered Annie to me, the first and most important priority of the day. He gave me her binding object, and consequently, power over her. She'll soon be on her way to Bristol, a very useful and powerful weapon."

Mitchell's mouth dropped open, his shock at Wyndam's words clearly showing. Wyndam laughed softly.

"Oh, John! Do you really think I care that much about a werewolf having a cub?" Wyndam's tone was condescending. "We'll find them, and they'll be dealt with. But Annie's powers, and potential? Well worth getting the wolves out of the way and letting them think they've escaped."

Mitchell glanced at Annie, and saw the horror on her face. She still couldn't speak or move off the bar stool.

Mitchell looked back at Wyndam with confusion, not wanting to accept what he'd just heard. He'd thought Annie was to go to Bristol to help with Nina and the baby, to keep Nina calm. He had thought, and even hoped, that with George and Nina getting away, Wyndam wouldn't take Annie to Bristol. But to still use Annie and her powers? Annie was the one thing Wyndam wanted most? Wyndam had used him to get to her, and he'd just handed her over.

He shook his head as he realized that he had tried so hard to protect them, in so many ways, but Wyndam had been several steps ahead of him, always using him. The reality and revulsion of what he'd done began to spread through him, along with a fear of how Wyndam would use Annie and her power.

At the same time, though, relief flooded through him because he'd done something that had helped Wyndam. What the hell was wrong with him? How could he feel both?

"We'll deal with that later, John," Wyndam's tone was patronizing. "But did you actually think you could fool me, or find a way around me?" Wyndam shook his head. "I thought you were smarter than that. Perhaps you've watched a bit too much of The Real Hustle." Another soft laugh.

"Wyndam, I don't…" Mitchell didn't know what to say, what to do to rectify this, to still save them.

"Yes, I know you don't." Wyndam smiled at him. "I told you, in this very room. You were going to come in useful one day. Today is one of those days. One of countless more to come."

oooooooooo


	26. Chapter 26

"**You're going to dance for me. You are going to kill and rampage." **

* * *

><p>"Edgar," Thomas was still seething, "this is too much. You let him use his power to make Padraig betray me! I will not stand for it!" Mitchell tried not to focus on the words 'his power', knowing Wyndam would hear him.<p>

"Thomas," Wyndam waved a hand dismissively. "Remember the second important objective of the day. Carl surfaced. John flushed him out of hiding for us."

Mitchell's head snapped back to Wyndam.

"Oh, John," Wyndam laughed, "you're expression! Did you really think I didn't know about Carl? I've been looking for Carl ever since the day you decided to ship him off to Brazil." The smile was suddenly gone, and the ice blue eyes were again menacing. "He continues to think he can live without blood, without us. He needs to be reminded, just like you. Along with every vampire that has ever helped him." Mitchell looked away from the threat and felt anger swirling through him.

_Why is everyone being vampire so damn important? Carl doesn't create problems. He stays quiet and just wants to be left alone. Why not just leave him the fuck alone! _ Anger started to build in Mitchell, not understanding why Wyndam wouldn't leave Carl alone.

"No, not Carl," Mitchell said quietly, slowly raising his eyes to look at Wyndam. He tried to keep the anger out of his voice. "I'm part of this now, here to be your…whatever. Leave him alone. He just wants to be left alone."

"Ha! See!" Thomas paced across the room. "He is still trying to fight you, to bargain and negotiate. He wants to keep our kind from being what they are! Look at him! Now he's trying to use his power on you, Edgar! This has to stop!"

"Thomas, calm down! John does not have any power here." Wyndam was annoyed. Anger evident, Thomas stalked to the sofa and sat down, glaring at Mitchell. Mitchell tried again not to think about this power Thomas kept harping about.

"Wyndam," Mitchell took on a warning tone, "don't do this. You don't need to do this. We both know you can make me to do anything, so you don't need him. Just leave him…" Mitchell stopped and his eyes narrowed. "How did you know my decision on the day I sent Carl to Brazil? That was long before you took me to Bristol."

"That took you much too long, John!" Wyndam chuckled softly. "You really don't know, do you?" Mitchell shook his head, waiting, not sure he wanted the answer.

"When we have more time," Wyndam smiled, again, "and you've cleaned up this mess you've made, we'll talk about Rome."

"Rome? I don't…" Mitchell frowned, but Wyndam stopped him.

"It's not important," Wyndam said dismissively. "Until your recent antics, what I've seen from you has not required my…attention. That has changed. Now I can know every thought that has ever passed through your mind, including those at this very moment." His tone held a warning. "It is this way because I say it is. And no, you do not get to bargain for Carl, or anyone else. Carl does not get to be left alone. He will return to us."

"Don't do this, Wyndam," Mitchell shook his head. "If what you say is true, you know me. You know I won't let this go. I will hold it against you, just like I did Herrick, and we both know where it will end." He tried to make it _not_ sound like a threat.

"You threaten me? Your maker?" Wyndam's tone was ice and anger, and he stepped closer to Mitchell.

"No, no," Mitchell shook his head, "not a threat. The truth. You and I both know it. I tried to tell you that first day. You don't want to do this, not to me. You can't trust me. Thomas is right. You should just…" Mitchell collapsed against the sofa and tumbled to the floor, blood trickling from his mouth and right jaw aching from the quick unseen blow from Wyndam.

"Never again!" Wyndam hissed, leaning over him. "Never again have that thought or speak those words. You will not die until I decide to allow it. You are bound to me. I don't care if you like it. If you try to fight me, I will crush you until you beg me to stop." Wyndam straightened and brushed off his hands. "I suggest you look to Padraig. He wanted to die tonight simply because he so disappointed Thomas. You will be the same before we are done!"

Mitchell slowly sat up and glanced at Padraig. Padraig gave him a slight nod, and his eyes told Mitchell not to continue fighting, it would do no good. Mitchell looked away, not wanting to believe it, not wanting to acknowledge what was happening to him.

"You speak of truth, John." Wyndam's voice was calm again. "The truth you've told yourself is a lie. You know the real truth, but still deny it. I will help you see it, and you will embrace it."

_What fucking truth?_ Mitchell's head was starting to ache again. When everything was falling apart, all he'd wanted to do was protect his friends, but Wyndam showed up and got in the way. Why the fuck couldn't Wyndam have just left them alone? Anger at Wyndam took hold of him and cut through him, and the ache in his head increased. There was something else, though. Something scratched at his mind and it wouldn't let go. He frowned, trying to get to it. It was right…almost...

_Fuck! _His head hurt. _ All the damn chaos!_ The soft brushing passed through his mind, a reassuring whisper, and the ache faded. Relief from the chaos. Wyndam was in his mind, providing relief and approval. There! It was what had been slicing at him, cutting away bits of him. He was looking for Wyndam in his mind, to relieve the pain and the chaos, to let him know he had not completely failed. It was there and…

_Oh, God_! he wanted it there! He was relieved it was there, and it felt...good! He wanted to know Wyndam was there. Horror and elation ran through him at lightning speed, and mad laughter tickled at his throat. Was he really so far gone that Wyndam had already won? He grinned. He couldn't help himself.

"That's a start, John," Wyndam was smiling.

Horror pushed through and the grin faded, and chaos reigned again. Mitchell looked at Annie, anguish in his eyes, trying to sort what was happening to him. She could only give him her tears.

"Edgar! We don't have time for this! The female is getting away!" Thomas was still angry.

"Thomas, do not worry. Everything is under control."

"But the female, Edgar!" Thomas continued to want Mitchell ended. "Because of him, she is gone! We still don't have Carl, and now the wolves are free!" Mitchell lowered his eyes away from the hatred streaming from Thomas.

"This is but a minor indiscretion, and John and Padraig will rectify things," Wyndam told him.

"But how do we get the bitch now, before she gives birth to that…thing?"

"As I said, Nina and the child are not that important; however, to satisfy you, John and Padraig are going to bring us what we want." Wyndam smiled at both of them.

Mitchell frowned, not understanding. He glanced at Padraig standing against the windows with his hands still around his ribs. Padraig shrugged.

"Absolutely not!" Thomas bellowed, jumping to his feet. "I am not letting Padraig spend another minute with him!" Thomas turned and glared at Padraig. "As it is, Padraig is going to be busy for awhile, locked in a cell, hungry but unable to feed. I think a decade would be a good start, don't you, Padraig?"

Padraig flinched and staggered, panic crossing his face. He remembered every minute of the last time, and how he barely survived three months of it.

"No, Thomas, please," Padraig said quickly. "I'll do whatever you need, just not….ahhh!" Padraig grabbed at his head as the pain flashed through him, dropping him back to his knees. It came from Wyndam.

"Padraig, you will accept whatever punishment Thomas deems appropriate for you, do you understand?" Wyndam said coldly. Padraig nodded, and the pain ceased. He slumped onto the floor, against the wall, not bothering to get up again. He looked at Mitchell with panic in his eyes, and Mitchell knew his friend was truly afraid.

"Thomas," Wyndam's tone was thoughtful, "perhaps Padraig can be better used for our purposes, if we are somewhat….lenient." Wyndam held up his hand when Thomas started to object. "Hear me out. I think this will satisfy."

Wyndam sat down on the sofa, crossing his legs, and motioned for Thomas to take a seat. Padraig stayed sitting on the floor against the front windows. Mitchell didn't know what to do, and pushed himself up to sit on the sofa. A quick look from Wyndam, and he froze. Wyndam motioned with his head, and Mitchell walked over and sat next to Padraig.

Mitchell was looking directly at Annie, and saw the horror and fear in her, and saw her struggle against the force that held her in place. She tried to speak, but then shook her head. Her eyes asked him what to do, to help her. He looked at her with sympathy and sorrow, but there was nothing he could do to help her now. He couldn't help anyone.

Still weak from the loss of blood, Mitchell leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to control the chaos. Padraig lowered his head and closed his eyes, trying to control the panic. Neither of them spoke.

"Samuel, you are recovered?" Wyndam asked.

"Yes, sir. It was minor," Samuel nodded, but Annie saw the blood on the back of his suit.

"What is our current in-house supply?" Wyndam asked Samuel.

"There are two here, and another six at the main residence," Samuel responded.

"That will be a good start," Wyndam said. "Bring them all here. Send someone out to collect more. I think another ten should suffice. If not, we'll get more." Wyndam smiled briefly. "Then you may take the car and drive Annie back to Bristol. Do not say a word, John," Wyndam warned without looking at Mitchell. Mitchell stayed silent.

Samuel immediately turned and left the house, already speaking into his mobile.

"What do you propose, Edgar?" Thomas asked.

"It seems that both John and Padraig have forgotten what it is to be truly hungry, and how only their makers can satisfy the true hunger. I think we should remind them."

Mitchell felt it first, the claw of That Hunger in his stomach. He glanced at Padraig, and saw that Padraig felt it, too. Mitchell closed his eyes, realizing what Wyndam meant by the two and the six. Humans, to feed from. And there would be more after that. Unconsciously, he licked his lips.

"Yes, John," Wyndam said, still without looking at him. "You and Padraig will remember tonight that humans are merely food. Then you will learn that human blood is no longer enough, that you now need your maker to satisfy your hunger."

Annie gasped, and her eyes darted to Mitchell. He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but failed. There was nothing he could say to her. Wyndam ignored her.

Thomas nodded his head, understanding Wyndam's proposal. He and Wyndam would keep the hunger clawing at their progenies until they understood how much they needed their maker and their maker's blood. Until they understood that they were to do whatever is required of them, simply because their maker requires it.

Thomas knew that Padraig didn't need reminding, as he had surrendered long ago and only needed to be rid of Mitchell's influence. In fact, Padraig already knew what he'd done wrong, and had been willing to die tonight because of Thomas' disappointment. Thomas would take that into account. But Mitchell was another story, and this was much needed for him. If it failed, Thomas would have that much more reason to demand Mitchell be ended. It was a good solution. He nodded his agreement.

Mitchell and Padraig looked again at each other, a new panic setting in. They both had heard the stories about Old Ones dealing with problem recruits. The Old Ones could make a recruit drink so much human blood at one time that the recruit would be completely blood-drunk, incoherent and teetering on madness. Once the drunk passed, if the recruit survived with his sanity, the hunger would be overwhelming and need to be fed several times each day. Until satisfied that the problem was corrected, the Old One would not allow the recruit to feed. It was a very effective method of controlling behavior, and often, just the threat of it was enough to correct the recruit's behavior.

As Mitchell had never even heard of being remade by an Old One, he had no idea what effect that would have on him. However, he could see Padraig's wild eyes and quick breath and knew they were both in for something that terrified Padraig.

Regardless of what Wyndam had said, Mitchell wondered if Wyndam would end him this time. He had apparently served his purpose today. Perhaps the darkness, or the madness, would take him.

_So be it._ He did hope Padraig would survive, and consciously made that thought foremost in his mind.

Wyndam finally turned and looked at Mitchell. Unable to keep the fear from his eyes, Mitchell swallowed nervously and returned Wyndam's look.

"Wyndam," Mitchell said quietly, "not Padraig." When Wyndam didn't stop him, he continued. "I'll do this, for as long as you want. You want to turn me into a mindless killer or an insane animal, okay, I won't fight you. You want to kill me with this, fine, I deserve it. But don't do this to Padraig. I used him. Don't punish him for it."

"Why are you so willing to bargain for everyone else? It is very annoying, and you will do it no longer," Wyndam told him. "You do not get out of this. I told you, you will not be ended. Not today. You will be what you are, unconditionally. When you try to fight it, those around you will suffer. Eventually, you will only be what you are." Wyndam said it with certainty, and Mitchell knew he was right. "I've warned you that your actions have consequences. This is one of them. Because of your unacceptable desire to be human, your friend will suffer. Hopefully, he will survive it, and be the stronger for it."

Mitchell shook his head, and started to speak, but Wyndam held up a finger to silence him.

"There is no discussion on this," Wyndam stood up, and walked to where Mitchell and Padraig still sat against the wall. Mitchell protectively wrapped his arms around his chest, and pulled his knees up toward his chest. "And when this is finished, if he survives, Padraig will join you and Lawrence in the hunt for the Carl and the wolves. Lawrence will ensure that you feed, or not, to keep you focused on your task."

"And when you find Carl," Wyndam stooped down, eyes hard and mouth set, staring at Mitchell. The reassuring whisper was gone. "You will remind him of what he is, and what he needs to survive. You will make him feed again and return him to his true nature."

Mitchell's eyes widened, knowing he couldn't do that to Carl, not after everything Carl had done for him. Carl would rather be dead than that. He would kill Carl first.

"No, you won't," Wyndam shook his head. "Like you, Carl does not have the option of dying. But you will decide how he survives. He will be either truly vampire, or an animal with enough moments of lucidity to understand what it does. It will be up to you to make him the former." Wyndam waited, making sure Mitchell understood. After several moments of the war raging inside him, Mitchell let his head fall back against the wall, resignation finally winning.

Mitchell knew he would do it. To keep Carl from becoming the hunger-driven monster that Carl so despised. He also knew Wyndam would accept Carl as just such a monster if it suited his purpose.

"Yes, you finally understand," Wyndam told him. "You are going to dance for me, and this will be the start." Wyndam leaned in closer to him. "And when you find the wolves…" Wyndam paused, staring at Mitchell.

"No," Mitchell whispered, shaking his head, afraid of the words, but Wyndam nodded.

"Yes. When you find the wolves…"

He shook his head.

"You will return Nina to me." Mitchell could not hide his surprise, and relief. But Wyndam was not finished. "If she has had the child, you will bring me the child. And kill Nina."

Annie squeaked, and put her hand to her mouth. Tears ran down her cheeks, as she tried, in vain, to do something, anything, to help Mitchell. She was unable to even move off the bar stool. Wyndam ignored her.

Mitchell said nothing, knowing there was more. He watched Wyndam and waited.

"Yes." Ice blue eyes of unbending will. "And when you find him…"

"Please, no…." it was less than a whisper.

"Yes."

"I can't…"

"You will kill George."

Mitchell closed his eyes and lowered his head.

* * *

><p>Annie gasped, but was unable to say anything, her heart breaking for Mitchell. She was starting to understand the terror Mitchell had been through these past weeks, and had no idea how he survived it. Wyndam was an evil she could never have imagined. He controlled Mitchell in some way, and she had no idea how to help Mitchell break free.<p>

Now, this evil had some kind of control over her. He wanted her to kill werewolves. If he could force Mitchell to do what he said, what could he force her to do? Real fear ran through her, and Annie now believed Wyndam could hurt her, or even destroy her. He could destroy all of them. She knew that Mitchell would not be able to help any of them. She didn't know what she was going to do.

Anger started to burn in Annie's stomach. She was supposed to be powerful, damn it! She concentrated every ounce of her energy into trying to move off the damn stool, to poltergeist something at Wyndam, to even just scream, but nothing happened. Wyndam continued to ignore her.

"Look at me, John." Wyndam said is quietly.

Mitchell did so, his eyes dull and lifeless, knowing Wyndam's next words would be just as devastating.

"You will kill George, and you will not hesitate."

"Lawrence," Wyndam said, not taking his eyes off Mitchell. "If John hesitates or refuses to kill George, you and Padraig will bring George to me, to be my pet, kept in a cage, fighting once a month for however long he lives. While his child watches." Mitchell cringed.

Wyndam turned to Padraig.

"Padraig, you're job will be to ensure that John is successful." Padraig nodded, and Wyndam turned his gaze back to Mitchell.

"Because if John refuses, or fails in these tasks, you will suffer for it, Padraig. In that cell Thomas has set aside for you." Mitchell didn't bother to look at Padraig but heard the sharp intake of his breath.

Part of Mitchell wanted to lash out, to shout his refusal, to attack Wyndam. But he didn't. There was no point. He was too weak and too tired to even try to fight, and Wyndam was too strong. Instead, his mind went blank, and all he heard was Wyndam's voice telling him to kill his friends. There was still no soft reassuring whisper. Instead, Mitchell kept his eyes on Wyndam, knowing there was more. Wyndam nodded.

"And if you hesitate, or refuse, or try to help them escape again, when you are returned to me…" Wyndam glanced at Annie.

"You win." Mitchell said it quickly and quietly and without condition. "You win. I give up. Whatever you want. You win. I'll dance for you. I'll kill and rampage for you. Whatever you want. You win. Anything. Not that. Please. You win."

"If you fail in any way," Wyndam continued as though Mitchell had not spoken, "when you are returned to me, you will watch as I destroy Annie."

Mitchell closed his eyes and dropped his head to his chest, despair engulfing him. He was so tired of fighting, so tired of trying, so tired of the chaos. He so wanted the relief to brush through his mind. He heard Annie's quick gasp, and knew he should fight, should find a way, but he was too tired. He was being crushed under the weight of trying to protect them all, under the unyielding force of Wyndam.

"Look at me, John." Wyndam was not yet finished. Mitchell did as he was told.

"Lawrence, when John has completed these tasks," ice blue eyes continued to burn into Mitchell, "you will take him and hunt down every one of our kind that ever helped him, or Carl, try to be human. When you find them, these vampires will be made to feed again and return to their true self. John will do this to them, and then return them to me." Mitchell didn't move, didn't look away from Wyndam and didn't show any emotion. There was no more emotion to show. Still Wyndam was not finished.

"And Lawrence, when John has finished that task, he will find every human that ever helped him, or Carl, try to be human and deny what they are."

Mitchell's head fell back against the wall as his knees slid to the floor, and his hands fell into his lap. He already knew what was coming.

"And when John finds these humans," Wyndam said it softly, "he will recruit them. All of them."

Mitchell closed his eyes and didn't bother to look at Wyndam again, knowing it was pointless. He would just see That Smile. He knew he would have no choice, and he would do all of this.

"Yes. You will kill and rampage. After tonight, you will do this not because I force you to, but because you want to."

Wyndam would win. He'd already won. He'd won that night he stopped George. This was never going to end any other way. Mitchell's shoulders slumped, and he gave a barely perceptible nod.

He felt the soft approving whisper brush through his mind and he sighed.

oooooooooo


	27. Chapter 27

"…**there are going to be a lot more ghosts…"**

* * *

><p>"Much better, John. Samuel's returning, and we'll get started soon." Mitchell still didn't look at Wyndam.<p>

"Now," Wyndam stood and turned to Annie. "Time to be on your way, Annie. Samuel will escort you to Bristol, and when I return, we'll begin."

Eyes wild with panic, Annie darted a glance at Mitchell wanting him to help her. He was still sitting on the floor, but finally looked at her. She tried to go to him, or to yell or scream or do something to stop this, but her body wouldn't respond. She had no control. Her eyes were pleading with him to help her. His head still leaning against the wall, he gave her a slight shrug of one shoulder and didn't smile or nod or even look sad. He just shrugged. She sucked in her breath, and it hit her that he had given up. Her Mitchell. The one that had come to Purgatory to find her and wasn't afraid of God or the devil or anything they could throw at him. He had given up, and in his place sat someone that was empty and defeated and spent. She had never seen him look so weak, and it terrified her. Looking back at Wyndam, her anger started to burn. She saw the monster that was Wyndam, the despicable monster that was trying to create more monsters.

_Just__ like __Herrick,_ she thought. She gasped again, a thought clarifying in her mind. _Herrick!__ The__ Herrick__ that__ was __threatened __by__ Mitchell.__ Her __Mitchell __also__ threatened__ Wyndam!__ What__ Mitchell__ had__ done,__ being__ human __and__ rejecting __vampires, __actually __threatened__ Wyndam!__ And__ Wyndam __wouldn__'__t__ – __no,__ couldn__'__t, __allow __it.__ It__ made__ him __weak!_

A sudden calm flowed through her as she realized Mitchell had the power to scare Wyndam. Mitchell just didn't know it yet. Wyndam had so wormed and so terrorized his way into Mitchell, it was as though her Mitchell didn't exist anymore and he couldn't see what impact he had. He also couldn't help her. It was her turn to help him, to help him find himself again, and see how much he threatened Wyndam. To give him a way to keep fighting. She had to find a way to help bring him back from the blackness he was giving up to.

She kept her eyes on Mitchell, but he still didn't move. He was watching her, but made no move to talk to her. She saw his eyes narrow when the realization about Wyndam came to her, but she had no way of telling him what she now knew. She tried to look excited, to let him know to hang on, to keep fighting, but just as quickly, she saw the flatness return to his eyes. She also saw him trying to concentrate on something, through the defeat, and knew he was mentally preparing himself to be what Wyndam was demanding. That shutdown she'd seen him do, that mask he'd put on, was happening again. She could see him pushing away the human emotions, the desire to be human, and the wish for something other than the darkness. He was accepting that Wyndam would make him be the monster, and that Wyndam had won.

_Mitchell,__ don__'__t!_ Her mind cried out to him. _Don__'__t __give __in__ to __it! __You __have__ no __idea__ the__ power__ you __have__ over __him!__ Don__'__t__ give __in!_ He glanced at her quickly, as though he'd heard her, and she smiled at him. He didn't answer her and after a brief moment, eyes still flat and mask in place, looked away from her.

Samuel came into the house, followed by a tall vampire pulling two young women that were gagged and had their hands bound in front of them. The dark haired girl looked to be a teenager, perhaps eighteen. The blonde was a bit older. Both were terrified, tears streaming down their faces.

Mitchell glanced at them and licked his lips. Then he saw Annie, and stopped.

"I'm sorry, Annie," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"Go ahead, Annie," Wyndam told her. "You may speak to him. And John? That will be the last time you ever apologize for being what you are."

"It's alright, Mitchell," Annie tried to keep the fear from her voice. She had tears in her eyes, and as much as she wanted to, she couldn't go to him. "I understand now. I understand what this monster has done to you. Don't worry about me. You do what you have to. You help George and Nina. I'm not afraid of him, and he will **not**be able to make me hurt anyone." She nodded at him, trying to reassure him.

"Oh, Annie, you are so entertaining!" Wyndam chuckled.

"Do not do what he says." She continued as though Wyndam had not spoken. "He's the monster, not you. You **are **human. And that terrifies him! He's a little man, just like Herrick, and he's afraid of you. Afraid of what you've become and what you were able to be. He's terrified of you being human, because he never can be, and it makes him weak. Don't forget that." She raised her chin a notch, certain of her words. "He's afraid of you, Mitchell. Hold on to that."

Annie nodded at Mitchell, letting him know that she'd said it on purpose. She heard him groan and knew he was waiting for the fury Wyndam was sure to unleash. But she straightened her back and lifted her chin another notch.

"How…naive," Wyndam said with no anger, no fury, just a smile. Then he nodded at Samuel. "Remember Annie, no trouble."

"See Mitchell?" Annie said confidently. "He knows its true, and he is afraid of you!"

"Enough, Annie," now Wyndam was too quiet. He glanced at Samuel and jerked his head toward the door.

Samuel pulled Annie toward the door, and she couldn't stop herself from moving with him. She kept her eyes on Mitchell, trying to reach him with her feelings. Finally, he scrambled up and started for her. Wyndam held up a hand to stop him, but Mitchell pushed past and kept moving toward her.

Suddenly Mitchell stopped, and Annie saw his eyes flash black. He spun around with fangs extended and hissed, staring at Wyndam.

"No!" Annie shouted, reaching for Mitchell.

"Samuel, wait." Wyndam smiled at Mitchell. "I think Annie should stay a bit longer." Wyndam gave Lawrence a meaningful look, and without speaking, Lawrence dragged the dark-haired girl to stand next to the bar, her back to Annie. The girl was trying to say something, but her fear and the gag garbled whatever it was. Her body trembled and shook with her sobs and she was shaking her head.

Annie tried to go to the girl, but Samuel wouldn't let her move and clamped a hand over her mouth when she tried to shout at Wyndam. Annie wanted to fight Samuel, to pull away from him or pry his hands from her, but she couldn't. No matter what she thought to do, her body would not respond. She tried to motion to Mitchell, to get him to see her, but Mitchell did not take his black eyes off of Wyndam.

"Please, make it worse for him, just say something," Samuel whispered in her ear, nodding at Mitchell. "I'd enjoy that." Glancing back at Samuel, she saw his wide grin and believed him. She pressed her lips together and remained quiet.

Oblivious to anyone but Wyndam, Mitchell didn't move and was hissing quietly. Annie could see he was again desperate for Wyndam's blood. Suddenly, Mitchell staggered, and blinked. His eyes returned to their normal and his fangs retracted. He seemed disoriented, and confused, not sure of what had happened. He was looking at Wyndam and waiting for something. It dawned on Annie that whatever had made Mitchell want Wyndam's blood had gone, and he wasn't desperate anymore.

Wyndam smiled at Mitchell and nodded toward the bar and the girl. Glancing over his shoulder, Mitchell immediately turned back to Wyndam and shook his head.

"No," Mitchell whispered, holding his hands up in front of him as though to surrender. "Not in front of her."

Wyndam didn't respond and walked over to stand near Lawrence.

"No, don't," Mitchell slowly turned to face Wyndam. "I'm sorry I pushed past you, it won't happen again. We both know I'll do everything you just said. This isn't necessary. Don't make me do this, not in front of her." He glanced quickly at Annie, but saw that Samuel had his hand on her shoulder warning her to stay quiet. "Please, Wyndam," he asked, but there was no emotion behind it.

"John," Wyndam said it quietly.

Annie watched as Mitchell shook his head, defying Wyndam, and she silently cheered for him. Then she saw him grab at his middle in pain, and take a deep breath. He shook his head again.

"Now, John, or this will be very ugly. There is a second human in the room that may or may not survive the night."

Mitchell closed his eyes and his shoulders slumped and Annie could see the pain and resignation on his face. He'd been here before with Wyndam, not wanting to do something but Wyndam threatening a human if he didn't. She realized it was what had happened in Bristol, and she cried for him. Her anger for Wyndam started to turn, and she felt the first stirrings of real hatred for him.

Defeat again registered on Mitchell's face. He moved to Wyndam, facing him, but stayed away from the girl, and seemed to be silently asking something. Wyndam simply raised an eyebrow and waited. It wasn't long before Mitchell sighed again and moved to stand in front of the girl. He couldn't bring himself to look at Annie.

"Annie," Wyndam said, still looking at Mitchell, "you need to understand that John belongs to me now. He **is** the monster, and always will be. He cannot, and will not, help you or George or Nina ever again."

Mitchell grabbed at his middle and Annie knew Wyndam was making Mitchell need blood again. This time, though, his head snapped toward the girl, not Wyndam. He was staring at her just as he stared at Wyndam. Annie gasped, realizing he wanted the human blood!

"Stop it!" Annie cried, finally realizing what Wyndam wanted Mitchell to do. "She's just a young girl! She's done nothing! Stop this! Whatever you're doing to him, stop it! I'll go with Samuel, just let them go!"

"You're going anyway, Annie," Wyndam told her, still not taking his eyes off Mitchell. "This is for John, as well as you."

Annie could only watch as Mitchell cried out and doubled over, his fists pushed into his stomach. She saw him clench his jaw, grinding his teeth, trying not to give in to whatever was twisting through him. Annie tried to go to him, but Samuel held her and warned her again.

"No!" Mitchell cried out, hunching over, pain showing on his face. Annie saw his eyes flash black. The girl squealed and struggled against Lawrence. Her friend tried to scream, but was silenced by the tall vampire.

"Oh, Mitchell," Annie was crying. "No! Please, stop this. She's just a girl! Leave her alone! Wyndam, don't! Please!" she begged Wyndam. Wyndam didn't answer her and simply watched as Mitchell stepped closer to the girl and began hissing.

Annie saw the moment the hunger consumed Mitchell. He grabbed the girl and pushed her head to the side, fangs ready to rip into her. Annie struggled against Samuel and caught Mitchell's attention, enough that he glanced at her. When he did, Annie shook her head at him, tears in her eyes telling him not to do this. As he held her gaze, his body started to shake and he arms trembled. Annie saw him push the girl away from him, just a small movement, but then his fingers dug in into the girl's arm. His other hand kept the girl's head pushed to one side. He kept his black eyes on Annie and she heard him hiss again and saw him start to sweat, and his fingers on the girl's arm opened and closed.

Suddenly, his eyes returned to their normal and his fangs retracted. Shock and surprise registered on his face, and he stayed where he was, still holding the girl. Annie heard Wyndam's soft laugh.

"What's it to be, John?" Wyndam said it quietly. "One or both? You get to choose. One willingly, or both unwillingly."

"No! Stop this!" Annie screamed. "Leave them alone! They're just young girls! They haven't done anything!"

"But they're human, Annie." Wyndam smiled. "That's enough."

Annie started to shout, but Samuel again covered her mouth with his hand, and told her to stay quiet.

Mitchell didn't move, and Annie saw the defeat once again filling him. She also saw that he was licking his lips and staring at the pulse point in the girl's neck, and even listening to her heartbeat. He glanced again at Annie, and she could see he still wanted the girl's blood, but didn't want to do this, not really. And then the defeat in his eyes told her he would have no choice. Wyndam would make him do this, either to one of the girls, or both.

"Time's up, John."

She saw him decide in an instant. Hissing loudly, his eyes flashed black and he sank his fangs into the girl's neck. All Annie could do was watch while he drank, pulling the girl's blood into him, drinking as fast as he could swallow. It seemed he was trying to get it over with. And then something changed. Annie saw his expression become one of enjoyment, and he slowed the drinking as though to savor the taste and the feel of it. She saw the feeling of pleasure overtake him and how he lost himself in it. His jaw started to move in rhythm to the girl's thudding heartbeat, pulling the blood into his mouth. He crushed the girl to him, and Annie knew he was lost.

Managing to work her mouth free and bite Samuel's hand, Annie screamed, but Mitchell didn't seem to hear her, didn't even acknowledge her. He didn't even seem to notice the girl's struggles and just held her head in place with one hand while he drained her of blood. In that moment, Annie knew his world was the blood, nothing else.

After what seemed an eternity in the hell of this day, Annie watched as Mitchell let go of the girl and drop her body to the floor. She was dead. He didn't even look at the girl. Instead, he staggered back a step and eyes still black, looked at Wyndam. He was waiting for something. Wyndam nodded and smiled approvingly at him, as though patting him on the back for killing the human so well. Mitchell closed his eyes, and smiled.

Annie cried. She couldn't stop herself from crying. She cried for the girl, for Mitchell and for herself. They were all lost, and she had no idea how to find a way out of this hell.

Her cries finally seemed to get through to Mitchell, and he looked at her with his black eyes. Tears were running down her cheeks, and he grinned at her. She shook her head and sobbed. Slowly the grin left his face and he looked away from her, and Annie hoped it was because he realized that she had seen him kill the girl. Her hope was short lived, though, and she cried harder when she saw him lick the blood from around his mouth.

"No! She was just a girl!" Annie shouted through her sobs. At the sound, his head came up and his eyes returned to their normal. The girl's body lay on the floor, crumpled and discarded and he didn't look at it.

Cheeks wet with tears, Annie tilted her head at Mitchell, her face full of horror and sorrow. He wiped the blood from his mouth on his clean shirt sleeve, and she cringed. The shirt that was her favorite on him. The shirt she had wrapped herself in while he was gone, trying to feel his arms around her. The shirt that made her heart leap when she saw it on him again today. The shirt that was no longer blue, and now was almost black, drenched with blood - Mitchell's blood, Wyndam's blood, and now the dead girl's blood. Black, with blue, just like his eyes. She felt the world tilt sideways and her insides lurch and she wanted to be sick. She wanted to hate Mitchell and hug him and scream and shout and hit him and kill Wyndam and destroy them all. She was shaking with the overwhelming force of it all.

Mitchell didn't speak, and would not look at her.

"You see, Annie," Wyndam finally told her after watching her emotions so clearly show on her face. "Mitchell is not human. He is the monster, by his own choice. And he belongs to me. He will not help any of you. The only thing he is going to do, **for**** you,** is to make more ghosts to keep you company. Like this young woman." Annie felt hatred for Wyndam burn through her, and she shook with the desire to kill him.

Suddenly, the girl's ghost was standing behind Mitchell, fear still in her eyes. She saw Mitchell and jumped back from him and grabbed at her throat. Annie saw the door appear behind the girl before any of the others.

"Quick, behind you!" Annie shouted at the girl. The girl looked at her, confused and afraid. "Go through that door! It's for you! It's wonderful! Run! Get away from them!"

The new ghost whirled around and saw the yellow door standing in place of the kitchen doors.

"No!" Wyndam shouted, and Lawrence tried to grab her.

"GO!" Annie screamed. The girl ran for the door and yanked it open. Lawrence hissed and threw up his arm to block the bright white light.

The girl turned and gave Annie a grateful smile, and blew a kiss to her friend. Then she stepped through into the light. The door closed behind her, and disappeared.

"Thank God," Annie whispered. Wyndam rounded on her and Annie waited for the anger to come her way. She let her eyes fill with her hatred for him, wanting him to see it.

"Well done, Annie," Wyndam said calmly, no anger in his tone. "It seems we have another talent to develop with you, see if you can influence other ghosts. It should prove most interesting." He smiled at her. That Smile. Annie shook her head, refusing to believe him. He nodded at her. "I told you, Annie. There are going to be a lot more ghosts. John has made a good start on that already. Soon, he'll be keeping you very busy."

Annie looked at Mitchell, but all he did was look at her with a sad half smile, and she could see he was still feeling some of the pleasure from the blood. He wouldn't help her, and she knew that already part of him couldn't. Annie shivered, looking at the face she had fallen in love with. It was now so much the monster, so little her Mitchell. He'd just killed someone, and she could see he was enjoying it. The emotion was returning to him, and it was horrifying.

Wyndam nodded to Samuel. Taking hold of Annie's arm, Samuel pulled her toward the door.

Against her will, Annie stumbled backward toward the door, her eyes still on Mitchell. Mitchell started to go to her.

"No, John," Wyndam said. "Stay where you are." This time, Mitchell did as he was told.

Annie fought moving with all of her being, focusing her energy on staying where she was. She concentrated on how much she detested Wyndam for doing this to the dead girl, to Mitchell, to her, to all of them. She let herself feel hatred for Wyndam run through her, to steel her, and brace her against the unseen force trying to push her away. She leaned forward, toward Mitchell, and took one small step toward him. She concentrated harder. Mitchell raised a hand toward her.

Wyndam laughed softly.

Annie's anger exploded and she pushed away from Samuel and toward Mitchell. Samuel reached for her and she whipped around to break free of him, backhanding him across the side of the head and knocking him sideways. He grunted from the strength of the blow. She stepped forward again, her eyes blazing her hatred of Wyndam. The air around her shimmered and she took another step, feeling the lessening of the force pressing against her. Wyndam shook his head at her. She let herself feel all of her anger and hatred for him, let it flood through her, and she moved forward again. The air crackled and buzzed. The bulb in the floor lamp exploded, and the other lights flickered. She saw Mitchell look at his arms, and saw the small hairs on them start to rise. Samuel took a step back and did not try to grab hold of her again.

"John, there is still another human in the room," Wyndam said it softly, the threat clear.

Mitchell quickly went to Annie, putting his hands on her arms. She pushed him back, angry at him as well, and the jolt of power from her made him stumble. She focused on hating Wyndam and forcing that hatred outward. Mitchell threw his arms around her, and she tried not to direct that hatred toward him. He called her name, but she struggled against him. She felt him tighten his hold and he wouldn't let her go. She knew she was solid and warm and full of hatred and anger and buzzing stabbing energy, but she did not want to be stopped.

"Annie, stop," he told her, refusing to let her go. "You have to stop. This is doing no good. Please, stop." He pulled her close and whispered in her ear. "Don't make him angry. He's unlike anything you've ever seen. Don't make him angry." She shook her head, her anger growing and she refused to stop struggling against him.

"Mitchell, I can't!" she told him.

"You have to. He'll make me kill the other one. Stop, please."

She did stop struggling hearing those words. She was still rigid with hatred, but the lights stopped flickering.

"He'll make me do it, Annie. Please stop." The air stopped shimmering and the tension slowly left her body.

"I don't want to kill again," he whispered. "For now, for me, please stop. I'll be there with you, in Bristol, and we'll think of something. But we can't fight him here, not like this." She slowly unclenched and let him rub his hands up and down her back while whispering into her ear. The hatred started to fade.

"It's okay," he whispered to her. "It'll be okay. We'll sort this in Bristol. Shhhhh. It's okay." Her shoulders relaxed and she started to answer him, to tell him, but he shook his head, pulling her even tighter. "It's okay. Shhhh."

"Edgar, this is not acceptable!" Thomas was once more talking about Mitchell. "He is again trying to save human!"

Annie heard Wyndam start to answer Thomas, but ignored them when Mitchell continued to whisper in her ear.

"It's okay," he told her again. She started to push away from him, but he turned his mouth to speak directly into her ear.

"Find Rose," he said it so softly she barely heard him.

"Shhhh," he said louder, "its okay, Annie. You have to stop. We'll sort it all in Bristol. Shhhh." He held her tight, and she nodded into his shoulder. "Good. It's okay. It'll be okay," he told her again.

Annie nodded again, and made herself reign in the hatred. As much as she wanted to strike at Wyndam, she would not be the cause of the other girl's death. She also didn't know what would happen to Mitchell if she did try to hurt Wyndam. That was something she had to find out.

Slowly, Mitchell leaned away from her and she let him see that her anger had gone. Tears filled her eyes again, though, seeing the bits of blood still around his mouth. But she looked at him intently, and nodded. She understood what he's said, and she would find Rose. He took a step back, but kept his hands on her arms. She nodded again and pushed away her tears. Raising a tentative hand, and with a sad smile, she wiped away a spot of blood from his cheek. She so despised Wyndam for making her Mitchell do this.

"That's better!" Wyndam said briskly. "John."

Mitchell didn't respond, and kept looking at Annie. He nodded at her again, and hugged her close. She held on to him, and remembered that he was strong, that he scared Wyndam. So that meant he was strong enough to survive whatever Wyndam did to him, or made him do. Her Mitchell could survive. She'd hold on to that.

"Now," Wyndam insisted. Mitchell broke away from Annie and after squeezing her hand, went to stand behind Wyndam.

"That was a good effort, Annie," Wyndam told her, smiling again. "And you go on hating me and letting that hatred grow. I think it will come in most useful. Don't worry, though, I'll help you direct that energy in the right way." Annie didn't answer him, just returned his gaze without blinking. "And while you're waiting for me in Bristol, and trying to convince yourself that John is still human, ask yourself this question. Why is George free and you are not?"

Annie frowned, not understanding Wyndam's point. He laughed softly.

"John's been here two days, Annie. He arranged for George to get away. But not you. Why is that, do you think?"

Mitchell's eyes shot to Wyndam and then back to Annie. She was looking at him, frowning, questioning. He shook his head and opened his mouth to tell her something.

"Don't look to him for an answer," Wyndam held up a finger at Mitchell, warning him not to speak. "I'm sure you'll sort it, Annie, and see what choices John has made, see what and who was important to him."

Annie didn't respond, and continued to look at Mitchell. He couldn't answer her, and instead continued to shake his head.

"Now, as interesting as this has been, it is time for you to GO!" Wyndam shouted the last word at her, and Annie felt herself thrown backward through the air. Samuel caught her from falling. Mitchell started for her, but Wyndam put a hand against his chest and stopped him.

Wyndam nodded at Samuel. Once again, Samuel pulled her toward the door.

Annie kept her eyes on Mitchell, her anger gone and fear engulfing her.

"Mitchell?" Her bravery was deserting her, and she wanted him to make this all go away. Mitchell took another step toward her.

"No," Wyndam said and Mitchell stopped.

"I'm sorry," Mitchell told her softly. "I know this is…but please, don't make him angry. Just…I'll see you soon, okay? We'll sort this, I promise." She knew he was trying to be reassuring, but he wasn't.

She tried to hold on to the bit of strength she'd found, and give him a brave smile through her tears, but she couldn't hide the terror in her eyes.

Samuel pulled her through the door, and then Mitchell was gone from her sight. Again.

oooooooooo


	28. Chapter 28

A/N - Bit of a warning for Old Ones and vampires behaving as they are want to do...

* * *

><p>"<strong>You are going to be my attack dog."<strong>

* * *

><p>Turning to Mitchell, Wyndam shook his head and clasped his hands behind his back. For several moments, he said nothing and with ice blue eyes narrowed and intense, he studied Mitchell. Mitchell waited, swallowing nervously, not sure what to expect. No one else spoke.<p>

"Achh, John," Wyndam finally said. "You do disappoint. Why must you be so difficult?" He moved to the sofa and sat down, crossing his legs. "Padraig, get over here."

Mitchell let out a breath and sat down on one of the bar stools, while Padraig walked over to stand next to him. Lawrence removed the dead girl's body to the hallway.

"I'm telling you, Edgar," Thomas said, now very calm. "He's still trying to be human, even now, and still trying to protect them. This cannot be tolerated."

"Wyndam, this will work," Mitchell said quietly. "I know I didn't handle things…properly today, and I have some things to answer for, but the end result is there. You saw her face when she left. She believes you can control her, that you can destroy her. I can get her to do what's needed."

"I do control her. **She **is not the problem," Wyndam told him. "You are. What just happened should have **only** been for Annie's benefit. It wasn't. Your reactions were real. Your feelings for her and the wolves are real. I will not have it. I will not have you thinking you can return to them."

"I don't think that!" Mitchell argued. "I know I belong here, with you, with my own kind. What I feel for them…doesn't matter. Not anymore. You want her to cooperate. This is how to do it. Once back in Bristol, I'll be able to convince her, get her to do what needs to be done. She thinks I betrayed you to help them, and that she's helping me to fight you. This will work!"

"But you're not going to Bristol, John."

"But I thought…" Mitchell stopped, mouth open and eyes wide.

"Yes, I know you did." Wyndam smiled. "But right now, you **are** trying to fight me. You think that once in Bristol, you'll be able to protect her again, help her stay…sweet and safe. That's not acceptable." Wyndam stopped him when he started to disagree. "I know you're mind, better than you do. This will not continue."

"What I feel...or…or think about them, doesn't matter!" Mitchell raked his fingers through his hair. "I belong…here. That won't change."

"Do you still think you can lie to me?"

"I'm not lying! I get it, I'm in! I don't know what else to do to convince you of that!"

"Just as you told Herrick you were in." Wyndam said it quietly. Mitchell said nothing, knowing better than to argue. Wyndam again studied Mitchell, and then suddenly looked away, his jaw set.

"Your reactions today were real, John. You were not performing for Annie. You were horrified at the thought of killing George and Nina."

"Maybe, but it doesn't matter! If it has to be done, then it will be. It doesn't matter what I feel for them. I understand that. It will not get in the way."

"Oh, John. Really? It's getting in the way right now. You're lying to me right now." Wyndam put up a finger to stop Mitchell's objection. "Tell me why I should believe you? What's different now, as compared to a few hours ago when you decided to disobey me and let George live?"

"Because now I understand. Better. You say my reactions were real. Then you also know the understanding I have is real, too. You're my maker, and I can't fight…that's something different than..." Mitchell's voice trailed off, unsure if he was saying the right thing. "Regardless of what I felt for George today, I shouldn't have let him get away. I know that now. I gave you Annie's binding object and she is on her way to Bristol. Just as you wanted. I won't betray you, Wyndam."

"But you already did, several times. I can't trust you." Mitchell started to protest, but closed his mouth at the look from Wyndam.

"What you and Padraig did is unacceptable. I was testing you, to see if either of you would come to me about helping George. You failed. Miserably. Both of you." Wyndam looked pointedly at Padraig, and then focused again on Mitchell.

"Nina escaped. Because of you. Because of what you continue to feel for them. I want whatever that monstrosity is that she carries, and I am very disappointed that your actions resulted in her escape. You will not be going Bristol until I'm certain I can trust you. Instead, you are going to do just what I said. You will help Lawrence hunt them all down."

Mitchell drew in a sharp breath, not sure he heard correctly. Wyndam nodded.

"Yes, you will hunt them down."

Remembering Wyndam's earlier words and what he'd have to do, panic started to run through Mitchell. He searched for the right thing to say.

"That is why you are the problem." Wyndam was too quiet. "You should welcome the chance to go after them, to redeem yourself. Instead, you are panicking at the thought of returning Carl to us, and killing George."

"Wyndam, no, that's not…" Mitchell stopped. Wyndam was right and they both knew it.

"I should make you do just that," Wyndam paused and Mitchell didn't breathe, waiting for the final words.

"However, that does not serve my purpose. Instead, you will hunt them down, and you will bring them all back to me. Alive."

Mitchell couldn't hide his surprise.

"You may still be denying what you are, but fortunately for you, I know your mind and the influence you have over them. You will bring them back alive, and I will then see who can be useful to me, and who you will deal with...appropriately." Wyndam smiled again, and Mitchell relaxed, relief flooding through him.

"No, John," Wyndam warned, "you don't get off that easy. If you fail in this, or try to help them in any way, everyone you know will suffer for it, starting with Padraig." Wyndam paused, ensuring Mitchell's full attention. Mitchell again swallowed nervously.

"I will lock him in that cell until you forget what he looks like." Wyndam said it softly, but there was no doubt he would do it. Mitchell's eyes darted to Padraig and saw his shock. Mitchell started to speak but Wyndam held up a hand silencing him.

"Padraig," Wyndam warned, "that will be your incentive to make sure John does as he should. If you have to, you will drag him back to me in chains. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Padraig said it through clenched teeth, staring at Mitchell. Mitchell knew Padraig would do it, to avoid that cell. Mitchell would do the same if the roles were reversed. The knife was again starting to twist and cut.

The front door opened, and the tall vampire returned, pulling and dragging two humans with him. He pushed them into the chairs at the table near the kitchen doors. Mitchell heard their slow heartbeats and saw their half closed eyes, and knew they had been drugged. He licked his lips while shaking his head, knowing what they were for.

Wyndam was no longer smiling, and stood up. Mitchell slowly got up and waited while Wyndam came to stand directly in front of him. Ice blue eyes seared into black-blue eyes, and Mitchell could not look away.

"I will not have you holding on to any human feelings for them. You will not identify with the wolves, the ghost, or with any human. For you, humans serve one purpose only: they are food. Nothing more. Wolves and ghosts are merely entertainment, and therefore, even less than humans." There would be no further discussion. Mitchell didn't speak.

Wyndam took a step closer to Mitchell. Mitchell didn't move.

"Your feelings at seeing George and Annie today are unacceptable. I will not allow it, and you will surrender them to me. These humans will be the start of that, and we will continue until you do what your nature requires of you. You will embrace what you are."

"You don't have to do this, Wyndam," Mitchell finally whispered, fighting for some control of his life. "I'm here to stay and I know that will never change unless you want it to. I will do whatever you need. You don't have to do this!"

"Nicely said, John. It's unfortunate you don't mean it."

"Yes, I do! Wyndam, I'm in. I'm here. You said it yourself. I had two days to do something to warn Annie, to help her, but I didn't. I gave you what you wanted most today!"

"No, you didn't." Wyndam waited for Mitchell to understand. When he didn't, Wyndam narrowed his eyes at Mitchell. "**That** is the problem. You don't understand what I wanted today. You should. It should be the only thing in your mind." Mitchell still didn't know what Wyndam was after and frowned.

"Padraig," Wyndam said, not taking his eyes off of Mitchell.

"He wanted you to follow his orders today," Padraig answered immediately. "Without question or hesitation."

"And."

"And you failed, twice," Padraig said. "First, you second guessed your maker for your own purpose. Second, you tried to end run it around him. You lied to him. We both did. We both failed."

"And?" Wyndam prompted again.

"Our makers will provide us with what is necessary to ensure we don't make the same mistake again." Padraig was answering by rote, now the one without emotion. Mitchell swallowed nervously at Padraig's response.

"Wyndam, this is insane!" Mitchell defended. "We – no, **I** may have gotten a bit off track today, but you have Annie, and I'll find Carl and George and Nina. I will return them to you. I swear it!"

"Insane?" Wyndam said quietly. "You think my wanting you to follow orders is insane? Do you have any idea how your antics are interfering with my plans? Plans that have been in place for more years than you've been in existence. Now they must be adjusted - because of you. You think only of yourself. You don't consider your maker, or your species. That is a human trait and I will tolerate it no longer. There will be no more."

Mitchell was taken aback by the cold fury behind the words. He had no idea what Wyndam was on about.

"Wyndam, I swear," Mitchell decided acquiescence was the best approach. "It will not happen again. I understand."

"Right now, you'd say anything to get out of surrendering to me, to hold on to what you want," Wyndam told him. "Just like you'd have said anything to Herrick to get out of the cage."

Mitchell's eyes widened for a moment, having again been caught with the truth. Then he clenched his jaw, trying one last attempt to stop what was coming.

"I don't know what else to say to you, Wyndam! Look into my mind, then, you'll see I'm telling the truth."

"At this moment, yes," Wyndam said and Mitchell looked hopeful. "You believe you're telling the truth. Tomorrow you'll go back to doing what you want. So I'm going to help you, and you will surrender everything human to me."

"You know me." Mitchell shook his head. Acquiescence didn't work, time to try something else. "You've been in my mind. If you do this, try to force this out of me, it won't work. Not on me. Not for long."

"Yes, it will. You will be what you are, because you want it."

"Don't do this," he said quietly, asking now. "You don't have to do this."

"I know that, John. We both know I can force you to be vampire. I'm going to help you **want **to be vampire."

"Don't do this." Mitchell shook his head again. "This is not the way with me. I'll remember this, and I'll…don't do this."

Wyndam smiled, but said nothing.

"Damn it, Wyndam! I will hate you, like I hated Herrick!" Mitchell didn't care anymore, and thought perhaps he could make Wyndam angry enough to kill him.

"I told you, you don't get to decide when you die. I decide that. Now, we should get started."

"No." Perhaps outright defiance.

Wyndam laughed. Mitchell didn't expect it, and thought there might be a chance.

"You don't have to do this, Wyndam."

"You really don't understand, do you? I'm not doing this because I have to. I'm doing this because I can."

Mitchell didn't respond. He couldn't. After drinking from the human and then holding Annie again, he'd started to think he could be both. But now, the despair and defeat Wyndam had forced into his mind was flooding back into him, and he knew he wouldn't be able to fight it again. His eyes darted nervously around the room, to the kitchen doors, and he tensed.

"You won't make it out of the house, John," Wyndam said softly. "Stop fighting me. You have no choice. Simply understand that you will be what you are."

Mitchell still considered making a run for it, but Lawrence and Padraig both moved in closer to him. He'd never make it past them. Real understanding did begin. Understanding of just what Wyndam was. Unlike his life with Herrick, now that Wyndam was his maker, there was no way he could hold on to any part of his human self or his old life. He would not be allowed to be both, or have both. Wyndam took another step closer, and Mitchell was caught by the ice blue eyes.

"That's right," Wyndam nodded, eyes slicing into Mitchell. "I will rip away every part of you that tries to be human, that wants to be human, and that refuses to acknowledge and embrace what you are." There would be no condition, no compromise, and no negotiation. Mitchell tried to look away but couldn't.

"I will rip it away from you if it takes a thousand years," Wyndam told him softly, then released him.

Mitchell swayed on his feet, feeling as though he'd been physically beaten. He was so tired again. He could only be what Wyndam would allow. He had no control over any of this. He'd given Annie to Wyndam as a tactic, a ploy, something to let Wyndam know he could do this. Then he'd be with her and could still protect her. Do both, be both. Both. Laughter tickled at his throat at the same time tears pushed against his eyes. He realized how completely naïve and stupid he'd been. There would only be what Wyndam allowed. Defeat flowed through him, and he again felt the mask slipping into place. There would only be vampire, no human. He was exhausted again, and to the point that he really didn't give a fuck.

"Your actions always have consequences, John," Wyndam continued, "Consequences not only for you, but for Padraig, for Annie, for the wolves, even for these humans. Keep that in mind if you ever again think about disobeying me." Wyndam paused, waiting.

"Whatever you say, Wyndam," Mitchell answered woodenly, trying to anchor the mask in place, to be empty and mindless. He would be mindless and whatever Wyndam wanted.

"Not mindless, John. Enthusiastic. Properly enthusiastic."

"Edgar, are you sure he can be properly retrained? He seems so intent on rebellion. I think we should reconsider this," Thomas said calmly, suggesting they end Mitchell. Mitchell couldn't even wish for it, knowing it would be denied him.

"Thomas, we both know that John and his reputation are useful to us. His special…talent for enforcement and control will be helpful. He will be an asset again." They both spoke as if Mitchell were not in the room. "By morning he will no longer try to protect the wolves or the ghost."

"Why not? Why can't I be both?" Mitchell asked quietly. "What is so unacceptable about my having feelings for them? They're not human. They're like us."

"Edgar!" Thomas threw his hands up in the air. "There it is. It will not change! Enough of this!"

"No, it's a good question." Wyndam again stood in front of Mitchell. "John is trying to understand why we are different and better than…" he stepped in closer, "A WEREWOLF AND A GHOST!" Wyndam shouted the last words and Mitchell flinched.

"They're a step backward, John," Wyndam said calmly. "We are the future. Therefore, we control them, and use them, and they serve us. Until we no longer need them."

The front door opened again, and the tall vampire entered pulling two more humans, a man and a woman. They too, had been drugged, and were dragged over to the table and pushed into chairs. None of the humans were making a sound, too incoherent from the drugs. The vampire left for a second time.

"For now, John, simply understand that you will be what you are. We'll discuss the science some other time." Mitchell didn't answer, knowing there was no point.

"Lawrence, I know you suffered tonight because of Annie's actions," Wyndam said, turning to Lawrence. "You need to feed to help restore yourself."

Suddenly crying out in pain, Padraig fell to the floor, grabbing at his middle. Mitchell started for him, but Wyndam held up a hand and Mitchell stayed where he was. Then he knew - it was pain and hunger that was tearing into Padraig, raking his insides, bubbling up through his chest, stabbing and burning in his throat and clawing through his mind, until there was only the hunger and the raw unending need. Mitchell could only watch as Padraig writhed on the floor in pain, fangs out, hissing, hands around his middle and eyes solid shiny black. Thomas stood over him, smiling.

Lawrence pulled the bound and gagged terrified young woman over to where Padraig lay on the floor. Pushing her to the floor, Lawrence knelt beside her, easily holding her in place despite her struggles. Then he waited. Mitchell couldn't help himself and licked his lips as he heard her pounding heartbeat.

Thomas smiled again at Padraig, and Padraig stopped hissing and blinked. He could move, and his black eyes found the girl, lying so close, and he reached a hand out toward her. Thomas stooped down, looking closely at him and he no longer moved, the girl just out of his reach.

Eyes fixated on the girl, hand still reaching out, Padraig could only watch as Lawrence moved the girl's hair aside and leaned in, slowly sinking his fangs into her neck. Padraig groaned and hissed, but didn't move. Lawrence slowly drained the girl while letting drops of blood fall to the floor. Padraig watched every drop, unable to reach what he so needed. Finally, there was no more blood in the girl, and Lawrence laid her head down, her bloody neck facing Padraig. The smell of the blood was overwhelming.

Mitchell didn't speak, knowing this was to make the point that his actions had consequences for others. He also knew there was nothing he could say or do to stop it. So he watched it, and hated himself for causing it, and his eyes flashed black at the smell of her blood.

Padraig cried out again, and Mitchell knew Thomas had increased the intensity of the hunger and the desperation for blood, any blood. Thomas laughed softly, and returned to his seat on the sofa. Mitchell briefly closed his eyes, silently asking his friend's forgiveness.

For a third time, the tall vampire returned carrying a human woman that was heavily drugged and barely able to move. He was followed by another vampire also carrying a drugged woman. The small table against the wall of the Hawaiian vista was thrown aside, and the women were pushed onto the floor and up against the wall, their heads falling forward. The two vampires left, taking the bodies of the two dead girls with them.

Padraig hissed loudly, eyes on the new humans leaning against the wall.

"Stop this," Mitchell said flatly, nodding at Padraig. "This is madness, Wyndam. We're not school lads needing our hands slapped. Let him go. It's not necessary."

"Oh, but it is necessary, to ensure that Padraig remains loyal to his maker, not to you. Something Padraig should never have to go through again is now necessary, because of you and your feelings for humans."

"Really? You think I care about them? You win." Mitchell threw his hands up in the air, anger and frustration taking over. "I get it. I have no choice. Whatever you want me to be, I'll be. Just tell me. You want me to kill all these humans? Fine. Which one should I start with?" In two strides he was over to the table where the four drugged humans sat.

"This one?" he pointed to the first one he came to, a woman with black hair. Not waiting for an answer from Wyndam, he leaned over the woman and tore into her throat, drinking what blood he could, most of it spilling to the floor. In moments she was dead, and he pushed himself away from her and watched as her body fell to the floor. Eyes black, dragging in gulps of air, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. His fangs retracted, but his eyes remained black.

"Which one next?" his voice all anger. "That one?" he pointed to the man. "Or how about this one?" he moved to the next woman, dragging her from the chair and pulling her against him. His fangs ripped into her throat and he swallowed the blood as fast as he could. When he came to the end of her, he dropped her body at his feet. He staggered back a step, eyes closed, the blood drunk flooding through him. After a moment, he retracted his fangs, and opened his eyes and they flashed to their normal. He didn't speak or move, and just waited for Wyndam.

Through it all, Wyndam had motioned to Lawrence and Padraig to stay where they were, to not interfere. Now he stood quietly, a slight smile on his face as he watched Mitchell give in to the anger.

"So I get it. I'm in." Mitchell finally said, walking back to stand in front of Wyndam. He didn't bother to wipe off his mouth again. "Kill humans. Done. Can we move on now?" Mitchell was intentionally sarcastic.

"Killing humans is not the point, John."

"**Then**** what**** the**** fuck ****do ****you**** want**?" he shouted. He stumbled sideways at the force of the blow from Wyndam, but he didn't fall. Instead, he straightened, and faced Wyndam.

"What the fuck do you want?" He said it quietly this time. Wyndam wanted a vampire, then so be it. It meant he didn't have to care about anything, Wyndam's aversion to swearing included. The second blow sent him to his knees, blood running from his nose. He slowly stood up, and faced Wyndam again.

"I'd advise you to think carefully before you open your mouth again, John. This is very childish, and I've told you, I will not stand for it."

Mitchell debated a moment, seeing Wyndam's right hand already curled into a fist. He pressed his lips together, but didn't ask the question again.

"Better." Wyndam unclenched his fist. "This is necessary because you behave like a child. This can be simple and quick, or long and difficult. Decide carefully, as you will not like the latter."

"Why should I care, Wyndam?" Mitchell was still angry. "In the past month you've tortured me, punished me, threatened my friends, forced me back into blood, and now you're torturing my friend and threatening me again. I've offered to be your attack dog, with no conditions, and still, you're going to make me into something I don't want to be. You won't let me die, so what the hell do I have to lose? We both know you'll win, but I don't have go willingly!"

"I see it now, Edgar." Thomas smiled approvingly. "You were right."

"Shit! What the hell are you on about now, Thomas?" Mitchell spat at him, and then found himself crashing into the bar stools, vision blurry, the side of his head exploding in pain. He jumped up quickly, rounding on Wyndam, eyes black and fangs out, hissing threateningly and fingers curled into fists.

Wyndam laughed. He threw back his head and laughed. Surprise made Mitchell blink and his eyes returned to their normal.

"That is too perfect, Edgar!" Thomas joined in the laughter. "You were so right!"

"Of course I was right, Thomas."

Mitchell looked from one to the other, completely confused.

"So, where were we?" Wyndam asked him.

"What the…" Mitchell started, but caught himself. He'd had enough of Wyndam's fist and it was getting him nowhere. "I dunno know what you're on about and I don't really care. What I do care about is why you are so da…insistent on this, Wyndam. Why do you want to make me this when I don't want it? Why can't you just leave me alone, or…?" he didn't say it, knowing it would only result in another bruise.

"That's unimportant. All you need know is that I wish it, therefore it will be."

Mitchell let the frustration show on his face, and he cursed under his breath.

"Jesus! Why can't you ever give me a straight answer?" Mitchell raked his fingers through his hair, and looked down at Padraig. "At least let him go, Wyndam! Enough of this!"

"Alright, John. I'll tell you this, and you will not ask again. I have an interest in…certain pieces of…Irish heritage," Wyndam said softly with That Smile. "Isn't that so, Lawrence?" Lawrence smiled and nodded.

"What the hel…what does that mean?" Mitchell was only more confused.

"No more questions. Now, where were we? Oh, yes, Padraig."

"Jesus, you are mad," Mitchell told him softly.

"Do you really think trying to make me angry is going to change this? It will take much more than you have to make me truly angry. I'd suggest you focus on the task at hand. The sooner you accept that you will be what you are, the sooner this will be over." That Smile again. "And we can move on."

"Wyndam, this is…"

"Enough. Now, Padraig could remain like this for, well, as long as Thomas wants him to. But it serves no purpose other than to teach you what you already know. You do know what this teaches you, don't you John?"

Mitchell didn't answer him, and instead clenched his jaw. He would not do this willingly. To hell with Wyndam. To hell with them all. If Wyndam wanted him to be a monster, he'd be just that. Wyndam waited for an answer. Mitchell refused and curled his fingers into fists again. Wyndam raised his eyebrows, waiting. Padraig hissed again, but Mitchell still stayed silent. Thomas chuckled, and Padraig cried out. Still Wyndam waited, but Mitchell held his gaze and didn't answer. Thomas laughed softly.

Suddenly, Padraig convulsed and rolled over onto his back. Mitchell sucked in his breath. Padraig's black eyes were open and staring at the ceiling, and he was still. He wasn't breathing or moving or hissing or even blinking. His mouth was open, fangs bared and his face was contorted in pain. He was oblivious to everything and everyone. Mitchell could not imagine where the pain and hunger had taken Padraig's mind, or if he even had a mind left.

"Stop it," Mitchell told Wyndam quietly.

"Answer the question, John."

"Release him first."

"Answer the question."

"You win! Now let him go!"

"Answer the question."

"Wyndam, don't…" He stopped when he heard Padraig moan. The anger left him. He couldn't let Padraig continue to suffer because of him. Once again, Wyndam knew him too well.

"Consequences." He sighed heavily. "I act on my own, and others pay for it. It's you, and whatever you want. Nothing else." He said it quickly trying not to think about the words. Wyndam slowly nodded.

"Now that is a good start. Just make sure you remember it," Wyndam warned. Mitchell nodded, and glanced at Padraig again.

"So, as you said, let's move on." Wyndam turned to Thomas, who also nodded.

Padraig's body relaxed, and the pain left his face, but he still didn't move. Mitchell kept expecting Padraig to get up, but he didn't.

"Let him go," Mitchell said to Wyndam.

"No, John, you're not finished," Wyndam told him quietly, moving again to stand directly in front of Mitchell. "Now we move on to your reminder that you will embrace what you are, that you are not human, and that you will not hold on to anything human. You will surrender them, to me." Mitchell said nothing, knowing there was no point.

Wyndam paused a moment and removed his jacket, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. Looking back at Mitchell, he took a step closer.

"Humans are merely food. Do you understand?"

Mitchell glanced down at Padraig, still oblivious to anyone but Thomas. Looking back to Wyndam, Mitchell shrugged and put his mask back in place. He chose his next words very carefully, knowing he'd never speak them to Wyndam again.

"Go to hell. Do whatever the fuck you want. I really don't give a shit anymore."

"Yes, you do. But have it your way," Wyndam said very softly, and his eyes flashed solid ice blue.

The hunger slammed into every cell in Mitchell's body and every part of his being, and he fell to the floor, rolling onto his side. He curled into himself, arms wrapped around his middle, eyes solid shiny black, fangs extended. His body shook with the need for human blood, despite the three he'd already drunk this night. It was the hunger of not having fed for - he didn't know how long because he'd never felt Hunger like this before. Ever. He hissed against the pain, or for it, or because of it, he didn't know. He didn't care. He couldn't think anymore. All he knew was The Hunger. Unknowingly, he was calling for Wyndam.

Wyndam stood over him, watching him. Mitchell inched a hand out to Wyndam, sensing the blood he needed. Wyndam stooped down, not touching him.

"Would you like some of my blood, John?" Wyndam asked softly. Mitchell tried to look at Wyndam, but could barely move. The red was consuming him, and his fingers crawled toward Wyndam.

"You see, John," Wyndam leaned in closer to him, placing a bared wrist just out of Mitchell's reach. "There are consequences when you try to deny who and what you are, when you try to hold on to being human. You are not human. You will never be human. You are better than human. Humans are food, nothing more. Do you understand?"

Mitchell couldn't answer, and tried only to reach for Wyndam's bare wrist. Wyndam moved it away from him and Mitchell hissed.

"Humans are food, John. You will be my attack dog, and you will know and accept that humans are only food. Do you understand?" Mitchell hissed again.

"Humans are food. Nothing more. You do not feel for them, you do not protect them, you do not help them. You feed from them. They are food. Do you understand?"

Mitchell heard him, but didn't answer.

"John, what are humans?"

Mitchell still didn't answer. The Hunger and pain exploded through his mind, and he cried out, his hand darting out for Wyndam, just out of reach.

"Answer the question, John. What are humans?"

He hissed louder, trying to reach Wyndam's wrist.

"Answer the question."

"Blood…" he hissed.

"Answer the question."

Mitchell didn't try to speak.

Wyndam scratched his own wrist and a drop of blood pooled onto his skin and fell to the floor. Mitchell cried out again and reached for it, but Wyndam pulled his wrist away.

"Answer the question."

"Don't…" it was all Mitchell could say.

"What are humans, John? Answer the question."

"Please…"

"Answer the question."

Mitchell hissed.

"_**ANSWER**__** THE**__** QUESTION!**__"_ Wyndam shouted into his mind.

"Food," barely a whisper.

"Again."

"Food," stronger this time, the Hunger demanding it.

"Now, answer the question."

"Humans…food."

"Answer properly."

"Please!" he cried it.

"Answer the question." Unyielding. Waiting.

"Humans are food," whispered, resigned. "Nothing more." A moment of brushing relief and approval, and he smiled.

"Good. Now, there's a nice human appetizer over there. How hungry are you?"

oooooooooo


	29. Chapter 29

"**And then what?"**

* * *

><p>They arrived just after daybreak, but before most people were up and about. Staying to the back roads had made the trip longer than if they'd taken the M6, but it was safer. They didn't go into Liverpool, and instead drove to Birkenhead, just across the river. George followed Carl's directions to a small two-story brick and stone house, and pulled around to the back of the house. Carl went to the back door alone, and a moment later, motioned for George and Nina to come inside.<p>

"Can we trust this?" George asked Nina.

"Right now, I'm so knackered, I don't care," Nina answered quietly. "If Carl were going to hurt us, he'd have done it by now." George thought for a moment but had to agree. He helped Nina from the car and they followed Carl into the house.

Stepping inside, Carl introduced them to Jenna. She was perhaps thirty, with dark blonde hair and blue eyes, and very pretty. And very human. She immediately put her arms around Nina and hugged her. Nina tried to smile, but had to fight back the tears. All she wanted to do was sleep.

Carl quickly took George and Nina's photos with his mobile, and stepped away to send the photos to whomever he'd been talking to on the trip up. The photos were for the new passports and documents. Carl was again speaking softly into the mobile as George and Nina followed Jenna upstairs.

Jenna showed them to a bedroom on the second floor, pointed out the bathroom and then left them alone. Falling onto the bed, Nina was asleep before she could take off her shoes. Very gently, George removed them for her and pulled the coverlet over her. She never moved. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, watching her, lightly rubbing a hand over her swollen belly. Such a small thing, to be the focus of so much horror and chaos. He prayed their child wasn't aware of any of it.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself off the bed and went downstairs to find Carl. Jenna handed him a mug of tea and they all sat at the kitchen table.

"So now what?" George asked.

"Your documents should be finished later today," Carl told him. "I'm off to get some other things you'll need. You and Nina stay here. Jenna will look after you until I get back. Don't go outside."

"What about the car?"

"Already taken care of."

"It's alright, George," Jenna said reassuringly, smiling at George. "Carl knows what he's doing."

"Right." Carl stood up. "I'm off. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Carl?" George asked quietly. "What about Mitchell?"

"I don't know George. I need to see someone about it. I'll be back." He gave Jenna a meaningful look, and then was gone.

"Why don't you go up and get some sleep?" Jenna suggested. "You must be knackered, too." George nodded, but didn't get up.

"Why are you doing this? You know what Carl is, what we are."

"I know **who** Carl is," Jenna told him, "and if he says you need help, that's all that matters. Carl is a good man, and was a good friend to my mum when she needed it. I want to be the same for him." She smiled again, and cleared away the mugs. "Go get some sleep. I'll wake you when Carl gets back."

Wearily, George made his way upstairs and fell into bed beside Nina. He was asleep before he could take off his glasses.

* * *

><p>"Why are you doing this?" Peter asked again. "Wyndam will find you, and you know what he'll do when he gets hold of you!"<p>

"Perhaps," Carl nodded. "But I told you, I have to. I owe Mitchell, several times over. I owe George. I can't let Wyndam do this to them. I won't."

Gray touching the short dark hair at his temples, Peter Rigby had been living in Liverpool almost twenty years now. The gray hair was intentional, designed to age him as any human would age. Carl had known him for over a hundred years, and Peter had been clean, mostly, the last twenty-five. They were sitting in the back room of the antique shop owned by Peter's human girlfriend, waiting for the delivery of the documents and money for George and Nina.

"You need to run." Peter was again trying to convince Carl to leave. "Now. I'll get everything to your friends, but you need to go now!"

Carl didn't answer and knew Peter didn't fully understand. He also knew that Peter would help, regardless of what was asked. They were both men who repaid their debts, and had known each other long enough that just asking was enough. It wouldn't be asked unless it was necessary.

"No," Carl told him. "I won't leave until I know they're on their way. There's too much at stake."

"Wyndam will more than crucify you if he gets hold of you. There won't be a **you** left. You know that!"

Carl did know it. They'd both be finished, albeit in different ways, should Wyndam get hold of either of them. At best, Wyndam would force Peter back into the blood just for being clean for so many years. But for helping Carl, Wyndam would probably end Peter or make an example of him despite his two hundred fifty plus years of existence. Either way, Peter was running an enormous risk.

For Carl, death at Wyndam's hand would not be waiting for him. That would be too forgiving and Wyndam did not forgive. Ever. Carl wasn't fooled by the passage of so much time since Wyndam had seriously tried to find him. Wyndam would wait for Carl to make a mistake, like now, surfacing to try to help Mitchell. How Wyndam would choose to exact his retribution, Carl didn't know, but it would be brutal and designed to make Carl what he feared and despised most. Carl also knew that if he weren't such a coward, he'd end his own life and be finished with the running, with the threat that always hung over his head. If only he weren't such a coward. Perhaps one day, soon.

"I understand you needing to repay Mitchell, but you can't be serious about going after him!" Peter said it for the third time. He had ranted at Carl when he first heard Carl's question.

"Tell me again," Carl said, instead of answering the question again.

"Why? When Wyndam gets hold of you, if he doesn't keep you himself, he will turn you over to Thomas. You know what that means. Don't dot this!"

"Mitchell would rather be dead than be Wyndam's protégé." Carl explained again, patiently. "I base that on the very little I know about being an Old One's protégé. Mitchell doesn't have a clue as to what it really means, how much he'll be controlled and manipulated by Wyndam, and Wyndam won't tell him until its too late. If there is a way to break the binding and release him from Wyndam, I need to try."

"He's been with Wyndam over a month now!" Peter argued. "How can he even be himself anymore? He can't. There is nothing left to rescue!"

"You don't know Mitchell, do you?" Carl asked.

"Only by reputation and what you've told me over the years."

"If anyone can survive with part of himself still intact, it's him. He's one of the strongest men I know."

"You are asking for your own destruction." Peter leaned forward looking at Carl intently. "If you're lucky, you'll only be bound to Wyndam or to Thomas, and killing again. I doubt Wyndam will be that lenient. You escaped from him once. He won't let it happen again. Don't do this, Carl. How do you know Wyndam hasn't done this to Mitchell just to get to you?"

"No, I doubt that," Carl said, not arrogant enough to believe Wyndam would go to this length just to get to him. "For Wyndam, this is about Mitchell. You've heard the whispers, too, and I suspect they're true. Either way, it doesn't matter. I have to try. It's what Mitchell would do for me."

"I think you're mad. This is worse than a death sentence, for both of you."

"And then what?" Carl asked. There was no point in continuing to argue, Peter wouldn't see it. "Once I get to Mitchell, then what?"

Peter sighed heavily and was silent for several moments. Carl waited.

"You have to purge Wyndam's blood from him," Peter finally said. "Completely and totally eliminate it from his system. Even that might not be enough."

"How do I do that?"

"You won't like it."

"Tell me."

"You have to drain him, like he was a human."

"No! I can't do that, even with a vampire's blood! I'm clean again!" Carl got up and paced the room.

"Somehow, he needs to be purged of Wyndam's blood. Unless you've got a couple hundred years to lock him away and wait it out."

Carl paced for several moments, rubbing his hands together. Finally, he sat down again.

"What will his blood do to me? It's both his and Wyndam's."

"I don't know." Peter shook his head. "Mitchell's probably won't affect you, much. Wyndam's? No idea. Could send you back into the blood. Could have no affect at all. Could drive you mad. I don't know."

Carl was quiet, thinking about it. It had taken him almost a year to go clean after Dan. He didn't think he could do it again.

"Could I just bleed him, cut his wrist?"

"Maybe, but it would take longer, and you run the risk of not getting it all."

"What do you mean?"

"You drain him of blood and when he's close to starvation, you stop. What's left of Wyndam's blood will restore him. Before he's completely restored, you drain him again. You keep doing that until Wyndam's blood doesn't restore him anymore."

"How long does it take?" Carl asked, trying to be clinical.

"Depends," Peter shrugged. "Depends on how much he's fed from Wyndam and how deeply he's been bound, and how much he's surrendered."

"Will he survive it?"

"Maybe, if he's strong enough," Peter shrugged again. "If Wyndam hasn't completely broken his mind. If he wants it, even just a little. If he's managed to lock away some part of himself. If it's locked away so that Wyndam doesn't know what it is. If it's locked away so Wyndam can't get to it, but you can. If he lets you get to it. Then maybe he can survive. Maybe."

"But it's been done, before," Carl was looking for reassurance.

"Not like you're talking about. You're talking about trying to remake him and restore his humanity. That hasn't been done. Best you can do is break him away from Wyndam, and then hope, over time, that his humanity comes back."

"So what has been done and how many times?"

"I've heard of three. One was Wyndam, when the Old Ones were still fighting. Or so the tale goes." Peter was quiet a moment.

"Who were the other two?"

"One was a vampire that had been made in the thirteenth century. Gabriel. He was bound to an Old One long gone now. But one of us, one who renounced blood even back then, got hold of him, and tried to undo the binding. He was able to purge Gabriel of the Old One's blood and break the binding, but Gabriel's mind snapped and he went mad. I never heard any more about him or what happened to him after that."

"Why'd he go mad?"

"When an Old One remakes you, the addiction changes. Yes, you still need blood, but you're more addicted to their blood and their presence in your mind. Before long, you can't be without it. It's part of what binds you to them. If the binding is broken and you're not strong enough, your mind can't handle the withdrawal. You go mad. Gabriel went mad."

Carl was quiet, digesting this. Madness in a vampire was one of the most pitiful and horrifying things Carl knew of. He'd seen too many, and had ended more than he wanted to remember. Ending them had been an act of mercy.

"The other?"

"A woman. Máire."

"And?" Carl prompted when Peter was silent.

"Pretty classic Romeo and Juliet, with an Old One twist. She was made vampire in the seventeen hundreds by Lawrence, on Wyndam's order. Lawrence was already bound to Wyndam, so her recruitment was a strong line to Wyndam. He was eventually going to make her one of his protégés. In the early eighteen hundreds, she fell in love with one of Thomas' recruits, a vampire named Gareth. Wyndam was disgusted, the idea of vampires being in love, such a human weakness." Peter smiled ruefully. "Thomas had not yet completed the binding process with Gareth, trying to preserve Gareth's mind. He was Thomas' first attempt at creating a protégé. Wyndam would not give permission for Máire and Gareth to be together. They tried to run away. Somehow, Máire had heard the legends and was able to break Gareth's partial binding to Thomas. She then remade him, making him part of Wyndam's line." Peter was quiet, and Carl could see that however Peter had heard of the story, it had affected him greatly.

"They were caught before they could get away. Wyndam was furious that Thomas had so little control over a protégé. Thomas accused Wyndam of sending Máire to lure Gareth away, and all the Old Ones were in an uproar, almost breaking into war again. As the self-appointed leader of their Council, Wyndam had to make a deal. In the end, Gareth was fully bound to Thomas, and with Wyndam's agreement, Gareth was made to kill Máire."

"What happened to him? Gareth?" Carl asked quietly. Peter shrugged.

"If rumor be true, he's still locked in one of Thomas' prison cells, being fed just enough to keep him alive, and in agony." Peter grimaced.

"Damn."

"Exactly. And that's where you could end up if you continue in this lunacy! This is who you're talking about fighting. You can't win. You won't. Don't do this, Carl. Please. Get the wolves out of the country and then go to ground again."

"Tell me what happened to him. Wyndam."

"It doesn't matter now!" Peter said, exasperation making him raise his voice.

"Peter, please, tell me what you know, or what you've heard."

Peter sighed again, and stood up. He made another pot of coffee and refilled their cups before continuing.

"I've no idea how much of this is true. I've tried to ferret out the mad conjecture, and put together the common parts, but who knows. It could all just be Grimms at this point."

"I understand. Tell me."

"Long before the Councils were even an idea, the Old Ones fought each other, a lot. Usual reasons, territory wars, power grabs, ambition, just like all of humanity. One common practice was to steal another Old One's recruits. Back then, the only time they could see into a recruit's mind was when the recruit was actually drinking from them. They hadn't figured out how to access the recruit's mind all the time. So another Old One could steal a recruit and remake him without the first knowing it. The remade recruit became an assassin and would kill the first Old One. It took several massacres for the remaining Old Ones to figure it out. Guess they weren't too sharp back then! Might explain why so many recruits went mad." Peter tried to smile, but Carl stayed silent.

"So, the Old Ones stopped making new recruits until they found a way to bind the recruit to them, and have access to the mind, to know if the recruit was still loyal to them. Eventually, the Old Ones united, the Councils were formed and the killing stopped. Before that happened, Wyndam had been remade at least three times. It may have been more than that, I don't know. At this point, only Wyndam knows. All before he was two hundred years old."

"But he survived." Carl focused on that point.

"Yes, barely. And the Old Ones that fought over him weren't anywhere near a thousand years old. There is a great difference between a five hundred year old limited power Old One, and a thousand year old Wyndam."

Carl was quiet again, considering what Peter had said. Wyndam was unique, but there had to be a way to break his hold on Mitchell. This was the only thing Carl had ever heard of that might work.

"But, Carl, it's said that part of why Wyndam became so strong is because of who first made him, and then because he was remade so many times by Old Ones. He was never remade by just an ordinary vampire. So each time it happened, his power grew. Being remade by an Old One will enhance innate talents and make a vampire more powerful."

"What do you know about who originally recruited him?"

"Not much," Peter shook his head. "Most common story is it happened somewhere in northern Europe. Could've been the Middle East, or hell, even here in England. But it was a very old vampire. When he finally went home, he was already strong. Of course, after his father and brother…died from their illness, he inherited everything."

"After he killed them," Carl corrected.

"Only Wyndam knows for sure," Peter smiled. "If the story is true, he never went after his sister and her family. Most don't know he had a sister."

"Mmm, if true, it would explain his interest in Mitchell."

"It's also the same rumor about his interest in Lawrence. But who knows. It's just whispers and gossip at this point."

Carl had heard all the whispers, but never told Mitchell. He had no proof. Pushing the rumors away, Carl turned his thoughts back to Wyndam, and the power he had.

"You've met Lawrence?" Peter asked. Carl nodded. "Lawrence is just over three hundred fifty years old, but already more powerful than a few of the Old Ones. That's because of Wyndam's blood. When Wyndam is ready, Lawrence will take a place among them, able to defeat anyone who objects. And then an Old One completely loyal to Wyndam will be among the ruling class. Wyndam is setting up a power grab."

"And you think that's what he intends for Mitchell? To make him strong enough to solidify the power grab?"

"No idea," Peter shrugged. "Wyndam is unto himself. I suspect yes, he wants Mitchell as another powerful weapon. Then he's got Lawrence on one side, Mitchell on the other, and no one can stop him. It would put the other Councils in a precarious situation, and probably subjugate them to him." Peter paused a moment and looked carefully at Carl. "If the rumors are true, it also means his interest in you is…complicated and will not end."

"No," Carl shook his head. "I've done what research I can, and I don't see it, anywhere. Wyndam's interest in me is simply because I pissed him off and embarrassed him. Nothing more."

"I don't know, Carl, I'd say there's more to it than that. If it's true about Lawrence and Mitchell, there have to be a lot of them out there, and he's only fixated on you three. If she were still alive, Máire would make four. There's something to it."

Neither spoke for a few moments. Carl knew Peter could be right, but there was nothing to be done for it now. It was time to sort this and try to help Mitchell.

"I need to be able to purge Wyndam's blood from Mitchell." Carl was planning now. "I'll have to isolate him, somewhere that Wyndam can't get to us. A place where I can make sure Mitchell survives this."

"Getting him to survive isn't the first problem," Peter warned quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"Wyndam is in his mind. At this stage, he's almost always there. The minute you take Mitchell, Wyndam will know. He'll know where Mitchell is and he'll come. For both of you."

Carl hadn't considered this.

"It's a trap, Carl! Can't you see that? Mitchell is lost. Forget this idea that you can save him. He was lost that night Wyndam took him!" Peter leaned forward, laying a hand on Carl's arm. "Wyndam saw a way to accomplish two things at once. He gets Mitchell, the great Big Bad John. And then Big Bad John brings him Carl. And the two of you become his private two-man army."

"It won't end that way," Carl shook his head. "I won't let it!"

"Wyndam will make it happen. He doesn't fail. You of all people should know that."

"Perhaps drug Mitchell to keep his mind quiet?" Carl was determined to find a way to help Mitchell.

"Maybe. But if his mind goes too quiet, Wyndam will know something is wrong. And he will not leave Mitchell alone, not yet. Someone, probably Lawrence, will be with him. What will you do with him? And the team that's with him?"

"Damn." Carl was seeing the logistical nightmare in front of him.

"Yes! Don't do this. You can't win against Wyndam!"

"If I can get Mitchell isolated, and get rid of Wyndam's blood, then what?"

"And Mitchell survives that?" Peter asked sarcastically. Carl ignored the sarcasm and nodded.

"When Wyndam's blood is gone, he'll have to be remade. By you."

Carl recoiled in horror, jumping up and knocking the chair over.

"No!" Carl shouted.

"Be quiet! Shut up!" Peter glanced up at the ceiling and listened for any noise from above.

"I'm sorry." Carl whispered again. Peter's girlfriend was upstairs, and although she knew what Peter was, she couldn't know that Carl was here. Carl righted the chair and sat down again.

"I can't do that. Especially to Mitchell."

"You have to. You have to remake him."

"I can't! He'll be like a new recruit, desperate for blood! He'd rather die!"

"But he won't. Wyndam's blood won't be out of him long enough. Wyndam's blood will have strengthened him so that he can't die until he's been free from it, for quite awhile. And remember, breaking the binding will cause a withdrawal in him. Wyndam will have been in Mitchell's mind for so long, the withdrawal may cause him to go mad. You have to remake him to reestablish a connection, to fill some of that void. If you don't, he'll just be an insane animal killing only to feed, with no thought of who he is or why he is."

"Then I should just end him, before I even try this!"

"You can't."

"What does that mean?"

"He can't die until Wyndam wills it. Another benefit of being remade by an Old One. Mitchell can be wounded, but won't die." Peter shifted in his seat and leaned in on the table. "Any attack on Wyndam manifests in Mitchell. Wyndam is protected physically by having his protégé suffer the wound, and in return, the protégé doesn't die until Wyndam wills it, or is the one to end him. If the rumor is true, Wyndam will never end Mitchell."

"That's madness, Peter!"

"I'm only telling you the legends I've heard. All of this is only legend, tales from around the pub, whispered to frighten new recruits. I've never talked anyone who's gone through it. We both know the Old Ones don't recruit often, but when they do, it is permanent and almost invincible."

"Shit!" Carl put his head into his hands, trying to see a way out of this for Mitchell and for himself. "What if I kill Wyndam?"

"Now you are mad! You wouldn't get near him, let alone have the strength to kill him. Besides, if he can keep a protégé from being killed, you know he's protected himself first. He is, for all purposes, truly immortal."

"There has to be something! Some story or tale of how Old Ones die!"

"Old superstitions, the stuff of Hammer horrors. Maybe stake through the heart, cut off the head, burn the body. Maybe dismember him and scatter the pieces all over the planet. Maybe bury him wrapped in religious symbols. It's all conjecture, Carl! There is no one alive that's ever done it!"

"There must be a way!"

"And remember, the protégé suffers whatever injury is attempted on the Old One. You try to kill Wyndam, Mitchell will feel every bit of it, and worse than Wyndam."

"Shit!" Carl slapped his hand onto the table. "Wyndam's got this so sorted and covered, Mitchell can't escape!"

"That's the point." Peter said it slowly. "When an Old One wants you in their service, you have no choice, no option, and no escape. Once they get their hands on you, willing or not, you're theirs."

Neither spoke for several moments, Carl trying to digest and understand it all, Peter letting him sort it.

"This is what I mean when I say Mitchell is lost." Peter said it gently. "Even if he were strong enough to lock away part of his humanity, eventually Wyndam will find it, or Mitchell won't want it anymore. You really can't help him. Please don't try."

Carl didn't answer, again thinking about what Mitchell has likely gone through, and all the risks, and whether he should even try this. Then he remembered what Mitchell had done for him, and he squared his shoulders and set his jaw. He would find a way. Peter sighed.

"You need to know something else," Peter told him. "Mitchell is stronger than you've ever seen him."

"I know he's strong. He's been feeding again."

"No, that's not what I mean." Peter shook his head. "He's been drinking Wyndam's blood for the past month. Wyndam will have given him strength in that blood. I mean physical strength. And if Mitchell was clean before he was remade, that strength will be unlike anything you've ever seen."

"What do you mean?"

"He won't need a stake to kill you. He'll be able to rip you in half and not even break his stride. The only ones stronger than him are the Old Ones and their protégés. Eventually, he'll be able to kill a fully transformed werewolf with his bare hands."

Carl sat back in this chair, mouth open. Peter nodded.

"I told you. This is too dangerous. Not only because Wyndam will likely get his hands on you, but because you will not be able to control Mitchell."

Carl didn't say anything for several moments, trying to decide if he should even try this. The results for Mitchell could be worse than death if this failed. But it was Mitchell. After several long moments, Carl sighed.

"I have to try, Peter. I have to."

"Don't be an idiot, Carl!" Peter's anger and fear were in his voice. "Mitchell was seconds from being free, and now he's Wyndam's new protégé, destined to serve an Old One for the rest of his days. He will be just as cold and inhuman and lethal as they are. And that's what will happen to you if you try to do this!"

The bell at the back delivery door rang, and Peter went to answer it. He returned carrying a small black duffel bag, and handed it to Carl. Checking the contents, Carl verified the money and credit card were there, and the new passport and identifications for George and Nina. It should all be enough to get them out of the country. Carl stood up and zipped up the bag.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I know you were hoping to stay here a bit longer."

"Well, you can only deal in the Beatles for so long." Peter smiled wryly. "Haven't been to the continent for awhile."

Carl stepped around the table and gave his old friend a long hug. He knew he wouldn't see Peter again. Even if successful, Carl wouldn't risk exposing Peter. If the worst happened, Wyndam would learn about Peter from Carl, and Carl couldn't know where Peter was hiding.

After several moments, Carl stepped back. Picking up the bag, he left out the back door, not looking at Peter again.

* * *

><p>George woke with a start, his senses on alert and heart racing. He sat straight up. His hands were raised in front of him to stop something. He looked around frantically, expecting to see Mitchell with eyes black and fangs out grinning at him. Finally realizing it had been a dream, he slowly leaned back and looked at Nina sleeping beside him. His racing heart slowed, and he took a deep breath. Hearing voices, he kissed Nina on the cheek and got up, heading downstairs.<p>

Carl and Jenna were again at the kitchen table. Carl had a black duffle bag and a small suitcase with him, and a map was laid out on the table.

"Hi, George. Were you able to get any sleep?" Jenna handed him a mug of tea. George nodded, not bothering to tell them about the dream.

"Nina's still sleeping," he told them instead. "Thought I'd let her until we have to go."

"Good idea." Carl nodded. "Your flight to Dublin doesn't leave until this evening, and I don't want you at the airport until you have to be."

"And then wh..?" George's voice broke as he spoke the words. He cleared his throat. "And then what?"

"What do you mean?"

"After we get to Dublin, then what?"

"Then the rail to Shannon. From there, you can catch a flight to wherever you want to hide. Canada. Nova Scotia. The U.S. Anywhere that's not the UK or Europe. Or South America."

"Shit."

"I know, George, but you have to. Very soon, you won't be any safer in Ireland than you are here."

"Why don't we just go from Dublin to wherever? Wouldn't that be faster?"

"Too many eyes in Dublin," Carl shook his head. "Once out of the city, things are much safer. And someone is meeting you in Shannon and is going to make you part of a family. Easier to hide you traveling as a family."

"What? No, I won't do that," George said, shaking his head. "That puts others in danger, and we've already done that to both of you. I don't want to pull anyone else into this."

"You really don't know how important you three are, do you?"

"What does that mean?"

"Two werewolves having a baby. It's never been done. Depending on what your baby is, the possibilities are staggering."

"I don't follow."

"Perhaps he'll carry a way to reverse the werewolf effect. Or something that allows you to defend against vampires. Or something to make the vampires afraid enough to leave you alone."

"Or he could just be a normal human baby!" George insisted.

"Yes. He could be that. But until you know, you must all be protected. There's a network that will help you do that. People I don't even know. Use it. Let them help you."

"You're not coming with us?" George was surprised. "Won't Wyndam be looking for you?"

"Yes." Carl wouldn't look at George.

"You're going to help Mitchell." George sat back in his chair.

"I'm going to try." Now Carl did look George in the eye. "Don't get your hopes up, George. I think he's lost to us, and what I'm going to try is only the stuff of stories and legend."

"Can I help?"

"No. Take Nina, get away and have a life. That will help."

"How will I know?"

"You won't. As far as you're concerned, Mitchell is gone. I'm sorry, but it has to be this way."

George took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, trying to stop the tears that welled up. It was several moments before he spoke.

"Will we be able to contact you again?"

"No. And Jenna will be moving tomorrow. You can't know anything about any of the people that help you."

"I'm sorry," George said to Jenna. She shook her head at him.

"Don't be," she told him with a smile. "It's not the first time I'm doing this, and I hope it won't be the last. Anything to help people get away from Wyndam, from them." Carl put a hand over hers and squeezed it.

"And then what?" George again asked the question of a vampire.

"And then you try to live your lives. But you know how this goes, George. Don't stay anywhere too long. Watch everyone and everything. Use your senses; suspect everyone of being vampire or an informant."

"But live our lives."

"As best you can. Yes."

George didn't say anything, and after a moment, he stood up.

"I think I'll go back upstairs," he said, but it was only a whisper, his throat too thick to speak. Carl nodded.

"George? One more thing," Carl called after him. "If you ever see Mitchell again, run."

oooooooooo


	30. Chapter 30

**"And then...what?"**

* * *

><p>Mitchell had lost count. After so many humans and so many times having to tell Wyndam that they were only food, he'd lost count. Before long, he was whispering that they were only food before the drained body fell to the floor. And still the hunger twisted inside him.<p>

He finally became unable to drink any more, gorged as he was on blood and the blood-drunk, and exhausted from the effort of feeding and killing and the constant gnawing hunger. His energy spent and mind overwhelmed, he sank to the floor and leaned against the wall of the Hawaiian vista, unaware he was whispering. _They're only food_.

He was aware of Wyndam sitting in a chair above him and watching him. Too exhausted to care, he closed his eyes, whispering to himself.

Slowly he felt the hunger change and shift. It became That Hunger, needing Wyndam's blood to satisfy. Looking up at Wyndam with eyes squinting against the pain and need, he silently asked that it stop, that there be no more. He silently asked that it all just end.

Wyndam leaned over him, demanding he surrender something more. He tried to tell Wyndam there was nothing more, but the words wouldn't come. He was too spent. His mind tried to tell Wyndam that he had nothing left, that he'd already given up everything, that there was nothing more**.**

_Give them to me._

Except them. He moved enough to barely shake his head.

It consumed him again, dragging him into the darkness that was need and That Hunger, and he couldn't fight it. He let it in, let it slide into every dead cell within dead cell, let it demand to be fed and satisfied, and he became That Hunger with no thought but to satisfy it. He would do and say and be only what That Hunger would allow.

_Give them to me. _

He could do nothing else. Eyes unseeing, he nodded, once.

_Who? _

"_Annie, George,"_ he whispered from the center of That Hunger. It was fast and sudden and willing, and he felt the satisfying click in his mind. But there was no relief, no soft brushing of approval, no release of That Hunger. He felt only That Hunger that still held him and the darkness that he'd let in.

He didn't feel Wyndam's teeth at his wrist or the strong pull as Wyndam drank. The darkness and That Hunger now swirled through him and carried him into the cold black. He didn't have the strength or the desire to struggle against it.

He didn't feel Wyndam continue to drink from his wrist, but he felt the weakening and the darkness pulling him deeper into its embrace. The darkness was strong and demanding and unyielding, and even That Hunger succumbed to it and became part of the Darkness. He slid down and into the Darkness and let It engulf him. Doing anything else was not possible.

He stayed there, motionless and suspended and melting into the cold and black and Darkness. There was no time, no feeding, no drinking, no breathing, or maybe there was. He didn't know and it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he was in the Darkness and the cold.

He knew that he still was. Even though the Darkness had taken him, had pushed through him and crushed him into the smallest point of a center, he still was. But the Darkness was offering Itself to him, offering an eternity of no hunger and no pain and no being. It wanted him and It would take away all and he wouldn't have to be anymore. There would only be an eternity in the cold and the black.

_Choose._ It was an echo in the Darkness. The Darkness continued to slip through him and tightened Its hold and caressed him and he let It carry him toward the not-being it offered.

_Choose._ Again, now a pinhole of grey in the cold black. The Darkness bore down and strangled him, trying to shut out the grey.

There was a faint pull from the grey, and it distracted him from the Darkness and the promise of not being, and the Darkness tried to push it away. The pull became a something, outside of the cold and black and not-being of the Darkness, and it teased at him and flashed at him through the grey. The Darkness ground into him and tried to drive out the grey, but the something ran at him and around him and enticed him and then jolted through him. The something became a scent, tantalizing and tempting and challenging the cold black. He tried to hold on to the cold black of not being.

_Choose._ Louder, from a different place.

He became aware that the scent was other than not being and was calling to him. It made itself known to him and it was being and hunger. The being was willing and grew, and knew there was hunger and blood, and the Being was calling to him. The Being wanted it and needed it. The Being ran at him and called to him and was luring him away from the Darkness. But the Darkness was cold and full of the promise. In the Darkness there would be no more hunger, no more burning, no more pain, no more being. There was either the Darkness, or the Being. The Being wanted him and the blood. The Darkness wanted him and to keep him in Its eternity.

He stayed there, unmoving and suspended and held by the Darkness with the Being swirling around him trying to lure him to it.

_Choose!_ Loud. Insistent. From the grey. _Choose!_

The Darkness roared and demanded eternity. The Being snarled and struggled toward what it knew was waiting. The Darkness raged and became vicious and Its clawing bones raked through him, shredding and cutting until It became pain and demanded the Being surrender. The Being fought against It, scratching and ripping and tearing away from It, trying to rush into the grey. The Being knew there was blood and sensed it was near and knew it was the way into the grey and out of the consuming and crushing agony of the Darkness. But the Darkness would not relent and demanded surrender. They fought over him and through him and in him and he would either accept the Being's need or surrender to the now agonizing Darkness.

He was again aware. Aware of the struggle, aware of the demands of both, and aware of what each offered. He would not…could not…must not…would... The Being struggled against the crushing Darkness, and he felt the Being reach for him and pull at him and grab onto him, trying to drag him with it. He clung to it and let it try to wrench him out of the Darkness.

_**CHOOSE!**_

His eyes snapped open, solid shiny black, and he hissed as he followed the Being through into the grey, and it became desperate want. The Being wanted the blood and his black eyes searched frantically for it.

A sudden fierce shaking swept through him, and the want was gone. There was no hunger, no searching, no pain, and the desperation faded until there was only a quiet wish to replenish. Slowly, being became understanding, and the now filtered, and he knew he had chosen. He'd chosen to be and the blood, and had rejected the Darkness. He would continue being.

His eyes settled and focused and he saw Wyndam in front of him, and he knew That Hunger was gone. Completely. He was still sitting against the wall. He was still alive. He was not consumed by the Darkness and its agonizing eternal pain. He closed his eyes again and drew in deep breaths letting the calm flow through him. He didn't move and focused on the knowledge that he was still alive, that he would continue being, and that he wanted it.

oooooooooo

Finally, Mitchell opened his eyes and his mind was clear, free of Wyndam, free of demand, and free of hunger. He steadily returned Wyndam's intense gaze, and waited. Wyndam nodded once at him and stood up, moving into the middle of the room to stand near the end of the sofa. Padraig and Lawrence stood on either side of him. Thomas stayed near the kitchen doors, apart from the other three.

Mitchell pushed himself up along the wall until he was standing, taking a moment to steady himself, and then moved to the far end of the bar, across from Wyndam, Padraig and Lawrence. The front hallway behind him, he faced the three of them and didn't know what to expect. There was no knot in his stomach, no knife twisting, no Wyndam in his mind. He felt weak but surprisingly calm, and waited for Wyndam to speak.

"You've chosen to live," Wyndam told him evenly. "I offered you death and you rejected it. You chose to live. Now you will choose how you live."

Mitchell frowned, not understanding. He glanced at Padraig, but received only silence. Looking back to Wyndam, Mitchell shook his head.

"I don't…" he started.

"You've chosen to live knowing what you are, and what you need. I've made you my protégé and I offer you all that brings. My family, my protection, my blood, everything I can provide. Now you choose. You can accept what I offer and be part of the family that wants you, that understands you, that will always help you. Or you can choose to walk away from us and into whatever awaits you without us."

Mitchell didn't believe the words. Oh, he knew he'd chosen life again, he admitted that. He'd deliberately and consciously chosen to live, knowing he needed blood. He now accepted that. It had not been forced on him this time. But this offer had to be another test from Wyndam, another moment in which he would receive either approval or more pain. He shook his head again.

"No trick, John. You choose. My blood, my family. Or alone."

"I can leave, no consequences, no repercussions," he said it slowly. "You'll leave me alone."

"Totally and completely alone."

Mitchell took a small step backward.

"What about them?" he asked. Annie, George. There was a moment of surprise when he felt nothing while thinking of them, but he pushed it aside.

"Nothing changes. I will find them. If you are with them at that time, you will be considered one of them and treated accordingly."

Mitchell took another step backward, toward the door. He still did not feel Wyndam in his mind.

"Before you go, John, I have one request."

Mitchell froze. _Here it comes._

"See them," Wyndam said evenly. "For what they are. Look at George and Annie. Look at them with the truth you now know."

"Truth? They were my family. They never tortured me, never tried to make me something I didn't want to be." Surprise again flashed through him that he wasn't angry at Wyndam.

"This was not torture, this was truth. You wouldn't see it otherwise. Who else would help you see the truth? George never did and Annie refused to see it even for herself. Neither of them would let you see the truth of what you are and what they wanted from you. I offer you truth."

"Your truth, not mine." He took another step backwards, his eyes on Lawrence and Padraig but neither of them moved.

"No, John. They tried to make you something you aren't, and never let you be what you are. They only wanted you to be what they needed at the moment. When they wanted to feel human, they rejected and condemned Mitchell the vampire, refusing to hear you or acknowledge your anguish. When they wanted protection, they wanted you to be Mitchell the vampire. Until it was time that they wanted you to be something else. They never let you be who and what you are, instead demanding you be only what they wanted." Wyndam paused, but Mitchell didn't speak and now kept his eyes on Wyndam.

"Ask yourself these questions about Annie and George. Which of them did you tell about getting the Bristol vampires off blood? About the explosion at the funeral parlor? About Lucy's betrayal and the Box Tunnel murders? Which of them listened to your explanation before condemning you to certain death at the hands of humans? Which of them was willing to help you stay out of prison? Neither of them. **Because they didn't want that part of you**. It wasn't convenient for them."

_No, that's not how it was_, he thought, looking down and frowning. He again wondered why he didn't feel anything when thinking of George or Annie, and why he wasn't furious with Wyndam.

"Think about it, John. That's all I ask. As your maker, you will give me that respect."

Mitchell raised his eyes to Wyndam. There was still no anger or threat from Wyndam.

"Please, Mitchell," Padraig said it softly. "Do as he asks. Think about what he is saying. It is the truth. You belong with us."

Mitchell's eyes shot to Padraig, looking for the lie or the warning. There was none. After a long moment, Mitchell slowly closed his eyes and did as his maker asked. He thought of George and let his mind's eye see George.

_George, condemning him for Lauren, then asking him to recruit Becca. George holding out a hand to him in the facility, pulling him back from the rage and the killing. Stopping him from killing Kemp. Kemp who later killed Lucy. George walking away from him when he tried to talk about what happened in Bristol, why they had to leave so quickly. Trying to tell George again, but George saying he couldn't be his confessor, refusing to acknowledge his need. Wanting to go to Purgatory for Annie, and George still not letting him tell what he'd done. George pointing a stick at him and threatening their friendship. George stopping him from killing Herrick. George blaming him because Herrick stabbed Nina. Never to speak George's name again_. _George not considering or asking his side of what happened in Bristol, or Purgatory, or Barry._

Mitchell frowned and kept his eyes closed. He tilted his head to the side, trying to reconcile the images playing out in his mind. He thought of Annie.

_Annie asking for help in stopping Owen. Annie asking him to be the monster for that moment. Opening the door so he could fight Herrick, even though he was weak and would die. Afraid of him in the kitchen and leaving, rather than asking what was wrong. Her joy at getting out of Purgatory. Returning from Purgatory, knowing something was wrong but not asking him. After he killed Graham, refusing to listen to him when he needed to tell her. Not letting him tell her what he'd done in Bristol, and before. Refusing to understand that sex was about the blood and the kill. Wanting only the fairy tale. Denying and dismissing his need to tell her what he'd done. Learning the truth about Bristol and not asking him for any explanation, not considering him or why he did it. Demanding he surrender and spend his remaining life in prison. Demanding he surrender knowing he would be killed. _

His frown deepened, and he lowered his head to his chest. His mind's eye turned unexpectedly to Nina.

_Nina standing in a doorway far behind George, calling to George, pulling George away from him. Nina dismissing him, with derision telling him he's not her type. Leaving George but blaming him for it. Her belief that he was a monster, even while asking him to protect George. Her wanting him to kill Lucy, but her condemnation when he killed in the facility. Her stopping him from staking Herrick. Her looks of utter and complete horror after she found the scrapbook, but never asking him about it. Telling him he has a poison in him that has nothing to do with being vampire. Reporting him without waiting or asking for an explanation. Blaming him when Herrick stabbed her. Accusing him of being arrogant and wanting to cause them anguish. Blaming him because after he's gone she'll have to take care of George. Willing to remember his death as a decent thing._

_**All three of them agreeing he needed to die. None of them asking why he did it.**_

He opened his eyes and saw Wyndam watching him. No one had moved. He took another step backward.

"You would leave me alone?" he asked again, still unsure, Wyndam still not in his mind.

"Completely, totally, for all the rest of your existence."

"And then...what?" he asked, his choice of words unintentional.

"No vampire will have contact with you. You will not exist, to me and to our species. You will never be with us again. You will be completely on your own."

"Why? After all this, demanding I be what you want, demanding that I surrender everything to you, why would you just let me walk away?"

"Because now you know who and what you are, and that you **choose** to live and accept what you need to live. I won't force you to be part of my family. I want you to embrace us. I shouldn't have to force you at all. If you wish to leave, to be done with us, then go. However, if you do, I will not allow you to return to us. To me."

As he took one more step backward toward the door, he looked to his friend. Páidí's eyes were now wide and full of fear, and Mitchell saw the almost negligible shake of the head. Now the warning was clear. _No! Don't try to leave!_

He closed his eyes again.

_George holding his hand out to him. Nina standing in a doorway on the other side of George, calling George away from him. Annie's look of disgust when she accused him of it all being a lie. Nina holding him back from staking Herrick and her horror after she found the scrapbook. _

Opening his eyes again, he was surprised to see that Wyndam had still not moved. None of them had. Slowly, Mitchell turned and walked toward the door.

"Edgar!" Thomas shouted.

He froze, waiting for the hunger or pain to hit. Neither did.

"Thomas," Wyndam said evenly, "John is making a choice. We will respect that and let him go. We will leave him utterly and completely alone. He will have no community, no resources and no life with his own kind, but it is his decision."

He slowly continued to the door and put his right hand on the doorknob. He waited, but heard none of them coming after him. He started to turn the knob, and then stopped. Closing his eyes again, he leaned his forehead against the door.

_Alone. Completely alone._ He felt the emptiness of Wyndam not being in his mind, the absence of the approval and acceptance he'd become so used to._ Padraig, fear in his eyes, warning him not to leave. Annie, tears in her eyes, pulled away by Samuel._

He raised his left hand and rested it against the door. He wanted to live.

_Padraig warning him. George, tears and contempt in his eyes. Annie, tears and disgust in her eyes. Nina in the doorway, looking at him with horror, demanding..._

His head snapped up but his eyes didn't see the door in front of him. Instead his mind's eye focused on the image of Nina standing in that doorway. His right hand let go of the doorknob and both hands now pushed against the door, his fingertips trying to claw into the glass.

_Nina. Calling and reporting him. Not letting him stake Herrick. Pulling George away from him. Nina. Demanding he be accountable. Calling him the monster. Seeing the monster and not accepting it. Nina. Demanding he be accountable. Standing in that doorway calling to George, trying to save George from him, the monster. Refusing to accept his lies. Just like…Lia, before she let him leave that place. _

_Nina, demanding he be accountable, demanding he be hu… _He sucked in his breath, the understanding jolting through him. He shut his eyes tightly, focusing on the image of Nina in his mind.

_He saw himself viciously shove Nina back and away from him, through that doorway and into the room beyond. Slamming the door shut, he locked it and broke the key. Locking her - it – away. George lowered his hand, and with contempt and sadness, turned away and disappeared. Annie backed away from him, tears and disgust in her eyes, and slowly faded away until he saw her no more. They were gone._

_The sharp sound of another click echoed in his mind as pieces fell into place. He was alone. He felt the absence of Wyndam in his mind and it took his breath away and was excruciating. He was alone. Choose._

Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself back to the here and opened his eyes. Sliding his hands down the door, he pushed away from it and turned and walked back in to face Wyndam. Wyndam was silent and waiting for him to speak, but he didn't for long moments, searching for the words.

"I need you," he finally whispered.

"Yes," Wyndam said quietly, holding Mitchell's gaze. With a smile, Wyndam held out his wrist and offered his blood, as promised. Taking what was a offered, Mitchell carefully, deliberately, and willingly bit into Wyndam's wrist, drinking in the promise and giving himself to the death and power and life the blood offered.

Annie had faded away, George had disappeared, and Nina was locked away. He no longer needed them. He had what he needed.

There was no hunger and still he drank.

Finally, Wyndam tensed his wrist, and Mitchell released it immediately. He felt the sweeping approval and acceptance brush through his mind, and with a satisfied sigh, he let the exquisite euphoria flood through him.

oooooooooo

"That was very close, Edgar," Thomas said as he and Wyndam settled into the backseat of the car. "How did you know he'd stay?"

"John can't be alone," Wyndam looked out the car window and to the doorway where Lawrence stood. With a nod, Lawrence closed the door and returned inside, to where Mitchell and Padraig were laughing.

"It's his fundamental weakness," Wyndam continued. "I took everything from him, and he can't survive on his own. But he needed to think this wasn't being forced on him, that he had a choice. Otherwise he'd feel obligated to continue to fight. So I let him think the choice was his. He was already bound to me, but now he's surrendered them and accepted that I'm the only one that can give him what he needs."

"You're sure he didn't know you were still in his mind, telling him what to think? Or that you weren't really offering him death?"

"Thomas, really." Wyndam was annoyed. It was close to daybreak and had been a very long night.

"I'm sorry, Edgar, but I don't trust him. He's too good at lying and using that influence of his. You're certain it's been completely successful? No bits of humanity left or held onto?"

"None. You know how this works. All those thoughts I've been leaving in his mind since that first day have just solidified for him. Annie and George no longer hold a place in his mind. And what his mind did with Nina - I'm surprised he hasn't killed her already. No, he's been completely bound to me since that first week, and now he accepts it and thinks he's chosen it."

"Yes, yes, he thought it was his own decision to stay. But what would you have done if he had walked out the door?"

"I'd have dragged him back to Bristol and kept at him until he saw it my way." Wyndam said it with no doubt in the outcome, and Thomas laughed. "But I gave him what he needed to get his mind round it, so we can move on. For the moment, he and Padraig will enjoy the remaining humans, a reinforcing reward, and then they will do as instructed and find Carl and the wolves."

"You are sending Lawrence with them, aren't you?"

"You and your doubts, Thomas! Yes, of course. John may still need some guidance, and Lawrence can provide that. They are, after all, family." Wyndam smiled to himself.

"Will you ever tell him?" Thomas asked. Wyndam didn't answer, looking out the window again at the shadows moving inside the house.

"Derek, let's go," Wyndam finally told the driver, not looking forward to the drive back to Bristol. The day ahead was going to be a long one. "It's time for Annie's training to begin."

oooooooooo


	31. Chapter 31: Epilogue

**As always, being human belongs to the brilliant Toby Whithouse. A very heartfelt thank you to him for creating the bh universe, and then inviting us in to play.**

**This completes my first foray into the amazing world of fanfiction. To all who have continued to read, leave reviews, and put up with the ramblings, errors and pratfalls of a newbie, my very deep and sincere thanks. It has been a full-on, riding-the-steepest-rollercoaster, head-out-the-car-window kind of journey, and I plan to continue this adventure (regardless of Wyndam) and hope to improve with each stop along the way.**

**As Mitchell knows so well, there are Consequences for all actions and decisions. For me, this adventure has brought about the wonderful consequence of hearing from all of you. It has been my absolute joy and thrill to read your reviews. So once again, all comments are very welcome, and most appreciated. **

**I hope you've enjoyed the ride.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>EPILOGUE<strong>

* * *

><p>A usual, Mitchell didn't bother to wipe the steam from the bathroom mirror. The hot shower felt good, even though it took awhile to get all the blood and bits out of his hair. It was already mid-morning and despite almost no sleep, he felt brilliant.<p>

After running the towel through his hair, he wrapped it around his waist and then looked again at the inside of his left wrist. He pressed against the new wound until he jerked his hand away at the quick stab of pain. Gently, he ran a finger around the two new puncture marks. Wyndam's fang marks. He looked at the ones in the crook of his elbow, and saw they were still healing, but would scar. The new marks on his wrist would also leave a scar. They were larger than the others and more…just more. He didn't quite remember it, but knew Wyndam had taken his blood at some point last night. He frowned for a moment, trying to focus on when that was, but then felt again the soft brushing of approval. He shrugged, knowing it wasn't important that he remember it. Not anymore.

Now, thinking about it all, he laughed at himself for being such an arse. He ran cold water over the puncture marks and smiled. Drying off, he went to Annie's room to dress. His room, or rather his old room, was a mess, what with the body and the blood, and he didn't want to get any of it on the clean clothes. He was back in the jeans and red shirt provided by Wyndam, and he used the towel to clean most of the blood off the boots. It all felt good. He threw the wet and bloody towel on Annie's chair on his way out.

He jogged down the stairs, buttoning the left shirt sleeve over the puncture marks. They would heal, or not, he didn't care. It didn't matter. He was no longer alone, and Annie and George were gone from that all consuming place in his mind. He headed into the lounge, tugging the sleeve down over his wrist.

Padraig was sitting in a chair at the table near the kitchen doors, elbows resting on the chair arms, a mug of coffee in his hands. He too, had showered and was dressed in clean clothes. A sheet was thrown over the table and there were several large red stains on it from the blood on the table. The stains in the carpet were dark, and blood trailed on the carpet from the table to the kitchen doors. Bloody hand prints marked the doors. Padraig nodded at Mitchell and grinned.

Mitchell scanned the rest of the room, noting the blood splashed on the side wall and over the broken bits of coffee table. There was a large stain covering most of the one sofa. No upholstery cleaner would get that out. Even the front window blinds were splattered with red. The whole place needed a good George cleaning. Mitchell smiled at the thought.

The tall vampire from the night before came through the kitchen doors with a mobile in his hand. He stopped when he saw Mitchell, and looked from Mitchell to Padraig, and back to Mitchell. A slow smile touched his lips, and he nodded. Mitchell didn't say a word.

"It's ready for the cleaning crew," the vampire said into his mobile. "We'll need a van for the bodies. Send it round back." He closed the phone and his smile became a grin.

"I'm Rick. Gotta say," he looked again from Mitchell to Padraig. "I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen you myself. You two did all this yourselves?" There was admiration in his voice.

Mitchell didn't answer, and looked at Padraig who just shrugged and then grinned. Padraig's eyes were no longer blue, but had turned dark black from the blood. Mitchell assumed his were the same, considering how much he fed during the night.

Ignoring Rick, Mitchell walked around to the bar looking for his leather jacket, and glanced at the hole in the wall behind the bar. Someone, must've been Padraig, had painted two words in blood to the side of the gaping hole. Painting with blood was impractical and a waste, but this made him smile. Woof Woof. Yeah, lots of cleaning needed.

He stepped around the broken bar stools, and didn't touch the empty brandy bottle. He found his jacket where Lawrence had thrown it on the shelf behind the bar. At least it wasn't stained with blood. He headed toward the kitchen, looking for coffee.

"Make sure they get the dead woman in the bedroom," Mitchell told the cleaner as he went into the kitchen. Padraig laughed.

"There's an unbroken mug next to the coffee," Padraig called after him. "Careful, though. Seems Annie broke everything else in there!"

Returning to sit at the table with his coffee, Mitchell surveyed the Hawaiian vista. It looked like someone had painted a spewing volcano over it, blood red lava everywhere. The only parts not covered in red were a few spots of blue sky.

"You remember that?" he asked Padraig, taking a gulp of coffee.

"Nah, not really," Padraig shrugged. "Nice, though!"

"Looks better this way," Mitchell said with a laugh.

"Yeah, it does!"

Rick laughed with them, and Mitchell glared at him, laughter suddenly gone. Clearing his throat, Rick nodded at them and left the house to wait outside for the cleaning crew. Padraig laughed softly.

"New and improved reputation," Padraig laughed. "I thought you were a celebrity before!" It was Mitchell's turn to shrug.

"You remember much?" Mitchell asked.

"Yeah, most. Just glad you finally stopped being such an arse. These last few hours are a bit blurry, but I think they were fun. At least, what the brandy is letting me remember was fun." he grinned. "Thomas did take away most of the pain, though, which is surprising. He must have been in a good mood when he left."

"Yeah, me too. Painful stuff is pretty much gone." Mitchell was quiet, not wanting to tell Padraig how much he did remember, how terrifying and hellish the darkness had been, and how close he'd come to choosing to stay in it. How close he'd come to choosing death. What an absolute right arse he'd been. Instead, he drank his coffee. Even though he remembered, it didn't matter now. He'd been given a choice and knew where he belonged. And Wyndam had approved. That's what mattered.

"They did tell us to have fun and enjoy ourselves. I'd say we did. Just wish I could remember it!" Padraig laughed again.

"Yeah, they did tell us that," Mitchell agreed. Most everything after drinking Wyndam's blood was hazy, until his head cleared this morning and he found himself upstairs, still covered in blood.

"They were pissed off though, weren't they?" he said quietly.

"Oh yeah," Padraig nodded, and laughed shakily, running his right hand through his hair. Mitchell noticed the plaster over his wrist. "That part I do remember, and that was not enjoyable." Padraig saw Mitchell looking at the plaster and pulled back his shirt sleeve and lifted one end of the plaster to show the puncture marks. Thomas' fang marks. Mitchell gestured to his own wrist.

"Yeah, me too," Padraig nodded, looking at the puncture marks in his wrist where Thomas had reinforced that Padraig was bound to him. "Been a long time since I've had these," he said quietly, and Mitchell could see Padraig was bothered by it. When Padraig didn't say anything more, Mitchell decided to change the subject.

"So, aren't we supposed to be hungry today?" Mitchell asked. "And why am I not? I just feel…" he grinned.

"No, we won't be hungry. We actually won't need to feed for awhile. Their blood does that."

Mitchell looked at him with surprise, and Padraig turned in his chair.

"You do know that the Old Ones don't **need** to feed, right?" At Mitchell's shocked look, Padraig laughed. "Wow, you do have a lot to learn. Yeah, they don't need to feed. Well, at least not Wyndam and Thomas, for very, very long periods of time. They do, just because they want to, but they don't have to. And when we've had their blood, or as much as we did last night, we don't need to feed either, for awhile. When we do, humans will suffice for a long time, but eventually, we'll need Thomas and Wyndam again."

Mitchell frowned. This was something new. He knew he'd drunk from Wyndam twice last night, the first after Annie staked Wyndam, the second when he chose. Could just those two make him not need to feed from humans?

"Why?" he asked.

"Why what?"

"Why don't we need human blood anymore? When it gets to that?"

"Have you felt what comes from Wyndam's blood?" Padraig asked and Mitchell nodded. "Do you think you could get that from any human's blood? No way. Not ever. So, eventually, the only thing that will satisfy the hunger for you is Wyndam's blood. I will tell you, it's been almost a year since I've **had** to feed. Until last night."

"Get out! So, you just stop feeding?" Mitchell asked, still frowning.

"Well, no. Just because we don't need to feed, doesn't mean we can't! It does mean that we get to really, really enjoy it!" Padraig laughed. Mitchell didn't join in the laughter, and kept frowning, staring into his coffee mug.

"So, we don't need to feed?" he asked quietly.

"No, not for…oh no, now what?" Padraig set down the coffee mug and sat up. "No! Stop right now! No! Do you have any idea how close we came last night to not even knowing our names anymore? They could have turned us into raving mad animals, locking us in a cell and using us as examples to everyone else. Mitchell, whatever you're thinking, stop it. You are not doing this again!" Mitchell didn't answer for several moments, still looking down at his coffee.

"I dunno. If there's a way to…" Mitchell paused, staring into his coffee as though it held an answer. Padraig shook his head and started to get up from his chair.

"I mean, if it's possible…" Mitchell said softly, and then glanced at Padraig. "Gotcha!" Mitchell threw back his head and laughed. "Ha! That's worth two, you owe me two! Shit, your face was priceless!" he grinned and then pointed a finger at Padraig. "I'm gonna want twins, just so you know."

"You son of a bitch!" Padraig let out a shaky laugh and sat down again. "Don't you ever do that again. You do, and I will break every bone in that face the ladies like so much!

"Yeah, you and what army?" Mitchell laughed at his friend, and then stopped when Padraig was snickering at him. "What? What's with the face?"

"Just wondering."

"What?"

"What the women will think of your new look."

"What new look? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, this is too good," Padraig laughed.

"What?"

"Oh, mate!" Padraig couldn't stop laughing. "It's just so perfect. After all these years, you always gettin' the girls and being the big ride with your Irish and curls and dark eyes. It's just too poetic!"

"What the fuck are you on about?" Mitchell demanded, sitting up in the chair.

"Your eyes, mate! They are," Padraig's voice took on a high pitch, "the loveliest shade of blue! Wyndam blue!" Padraig burst into laughter, plunking the coffee mug onto the table.

"No fucking way! You're lying!" Mitchell's mouth was open, not believing it. Padraig shook his head and made a crossing motion over his heart, laughing too hard to speak.

"Shit! No way!" Mitchell still didn't believe it. But he felt too good to really care, and shrugged.

"No worries," Padraig said, wiping the corner of his eye. "They'll go back to your normal, week or two, but it's just so damn – perfect!"

"Yeah, bet I still get more than you!" Mitchell laughed. He really didn't care what his eyes looked like. Wyndam's blue, his own brown, the black-blue, it didn't matter. They slowly stopped laughing, and were quiet, each drinking their coffee and thinking again about the night before.

"I've never had so much blood at once," Mitchell eventually said. "I never drank that much in a month, let alone in one night. I wasn't sure I was gonna make it."

"No, wouldn't happen," Padraig said, shaking his head. "You're too important to Wyndam. I was a bit worried about Thomas, though. I never quite know with him. I haven't seen him that angry for a long time. Fortunately, I think he enjoyed himself, so it should be cool for awhile."

Mitchell was struck by the casual tone his friend took, talking about his maker almost killing him last night.

"Páidí, I'm…"

"No, don't say it," Padraig interrupted him. "Not necessary. I did it to myself."

"It won't happen again," Mitchell told him quietly.

"No, it won't," Padraig nodded.

"So," Mitchell asked, "we're cool?"

"Yeah, we're cool," Padraig laughed. "But this makes us even for Edinburgh!"

"No way!" Mitchell shook his head. "Uh uh, not for that!"

"And for L.A.!" Padraig looked at him over his coffee mug.

"No fucking way! Absolutely not! No way!" he returned Padraig's stare, and finally laughed. "Yeah, yeah, okay, we're even!" Mitchell agreed, remembering, and they both laughed again.

"After last night, and all the..., and the blood…why do I feel so bloody brilliant today?" Mitchell asked with a grin.

"One of the perks. When they're satisfied, they let us know. But don't piss them off again, or you'll feel it all - the pain, the hunger, and it will be worse than last night." Padraig was silent a moment. "You remember I told you it could be brilliant? This is some of how it feels. Sometimes it's even better."

"Cool." Mitchell took a drink of coffee. "So just make sure not to piss them off again. No worries, should be easy. Yeah, right." They both laughed and continued to admire the new vista.

"So, guess we should go?" Padraig asked, setting down his empty mug. "Lawrence is waiting for us across the way. He's already sent a team on to London and another to the east coast. Wyndam thinks they'll run for Europe."

"No," Mitchell shook his head. "Tell Lawrence to bring a team here. They're not going to Europe."

"How do you know?"

"They'll need money, new id, passports. Carl will take them where he can get all of that."

"Are you sure? Wyndam is convinced they're headed for Europe, hidden on a boat."

"No, they're not," Mitchell shook his head. "Carl will use his network, and as of last year, there's only one place he can quickly get what he needs. Then he'll send them out of the country easiest way possible, and away from Europe."

"How do you know?"

"Because it's what he did for me when he helped me get away from Herrick. If it were me, I'd send them to Ireland – it's quick, easy, and because of me, last place we'd think to look. From there, who knows, maybe Canada, the States. Somewhere they can disappear. But first, they have to get what they need."

"I dunno, mate," Padraig shook his head. "I don't want to piss them off again, especially this soon."

"I'm telling ya, they're not going to Europe. Ring Lawrence. The teams can go on to London and Europe, but he needs to come north with us. And first he needs to call whoever we have in Liverpool. They need to watch someone for us."

"Liverpool?" Padraig asked, not quite believing it was the right thing to do.

"Yeah."

"And then what?"

Mitchell smiled at Padraig's question, at the words.

"And then what?" Mitchell grinned and his eyes flashed solid ice blue. "We go hunting!"

oooooooooo

* * *

><p>"Hello, Annie," Wyndam said as Samuel brought Annie into the office. Once she was inside, Samuel left, closing the door behind him. "I hope you haven't been waiting too long." Annie didn't answer him.<p>

She and Samuel had arrived in Bristol early this morning and she had been taken to a room with orders to stay there. No matter what she'd tried, she was unable to leave the room. She hadn't seen anyone until Samuel came to get her a few minutes ago. Frustration and anger were still growing, but she had to admit to herself that Wyndam scared her.

Wyndam came toward her and put a hand lightly on her back and motioned for her to sit in the chair across from his desk. Annie stepped away from him, but didn't sit down.

"You may as well let me go," she said, raising her chin. "I'm not going to help you."

"Well, why don't we leave that conversation for another day," he smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "Please, sit down." Annie still didn't do so. "Do you really want me to order you to sit? I don't think you'd like that too much, and we have much to discuss." Wyndam waited, but Annie still didn't answer him. He finally sighed and the smile left his face. "Have it your way. Annie, sit."

Just as in the house, Annie felt herself unable to control her own body and she moved to the chair and sat down. She refused to cry and instead, added the frustration to her anger.

"That's better," his quick smile was condescending. "Now, let's talk about what you are going to do with your powers." He walked around the desk and sat back in the large leather chair.

"That would be nothing."

"We both know that's not the case. So the question for you, Annie, is this: who will pay for your stubbornness?"

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Are you willing to let someone die because you won't use your power?"

"If it's you? Yes. Any other questions?" She sounded braver than she felt. Wyndam laughed and put his hands together, fingers intertwined.

"Oh, you are going to be entertaining! No, not me, regardless of how much you wish it." He chuckled and then suddenly the smile and laughter were gone. "How many humans are you willing to kill because you won't use your power?"

"I'm not killing anyone! Except maybe…" she didn't finish the statement and glared at him.

"If you won't use your power," he ignored her unfinished threat, "then humans will die when you could have saved them. That's the same as you killing them."

"What are you talking about?" Annie was getting that sickening knotty feeling in her stomach, the one she used to get when Owen was upset.

"You can control werewolves. If you refuse to do so, then their human victims will die. So that's my question. How many humans are you willing to kill because you refuse to use your power?"

Annie sucked in her breath, horrified at the suggestion.

"The full moon is soon. Shall we test your stubbornness? I do have a werewolf downstairs, although he's not too happy to be here. You know him, though, so perhaps seeing you will make him feel better." That smile again.

The knot in Annie's stomach tightened and she wrapped her arms around her middle. She knew about the fighting cages. If he had a werewolf…that she knew…but George and Nina had gotten away. Her eyes widened as the thought came to her, and she shook her head.

"No," she whispered, fear taking hold of her.

"Yes. Did I mention that Tom is still alive?"

oooooooooo

* * *

><p>"How do we repay you?" George asked again.<p>

"I told you, live your lives," Carl said again. "Be happy, love your child. Stay safe."

"We'll never forget you, either of you," Nina said softly, blinking back tears. "Will you both be all right?"

"Yes," Jenna nodded, wiping tears from her own eyes. "Don't worry about us. You have enough to take care of."

Even though it was early evening, it was already dark. They were standing to the side of the terminal entrance at Liverpool airport. Carl wouldn't go any further into the airport – too many cameras inside.

"Now, you know who to look for in Dublin?" Carl asked George again, and George nodded again. "He'll make sure you get to the rail station. Just remember, assume they're everywhere. You see anything that doesn't feel right, run in the opposite direction."

"Carl, we'll be okay," George told him. "You two get somewhere safe. And don't put yourself in danger trying to save Mitchell. He wouldn't want that." George had already told Carl this, but knew Carl wouldn't listen. Carl nodded anyway, not wanting to argue the point.

"Thank you," Nina said, giving Jenna a hug. She then turned to Carl and without speaking, reached up and gave him a tight hug. She stepped back, and Carl turned to George.

"Remember, if you see Mitchell, run," Carl whispered as he hugged George and clapped him on the back. George nodded, unable to speak for the lump in his throat. After a moment, he stepped back, then gave Jenna a quick kiss on the cheek. With a nod, he and Nina headed into the airport.

Jenna and Carl watched them a moment, then turned to get back into Jenna's car. They were returning to her house to pack her things, and then going their separate ways, Carl back to Barry and Jenna somewhere Carl didn't know.

"I wish I could have told them my real name," she said to Carl.

"It's better this way, Leigh. They can't have any idea what your real name is, just in case. "

"I know, but it would have been nice," she said, sliding behind the wheel and starting the car. Quickly pulling away from the airport, she wiped tears from her eyes.

Arriving at her house a short time later, she didn't pull the car into the garage, and instead, parked in the driveway. She'd left the light on over the back door, and they walked to the back of the house, discussing what she should take with her.

"That depends on where you're going," someone said from the dark. Carl saw movement from around the far side of the house.

"Run!" Carl yelled, pushing Leigh behind and away from him, not taking his eyes off the spot the voice came from. He heard her start to run, but she suddenly cried out. Spinning around, he saw Padraig with eyes solid shiny black, easily holding a struggling Leigh and pushing her head to one side, exposing her neck. Lawrence stood next to Padraig, blocking any escape. Carl looked back to where the voice had come from, steeling himself for who he knew he would see.

"Hello, Carl." Mitchell smiled as he stepped from the shadows. "Peter sends his regards."

"Mitchell." Carl cleared his throat and forced his tone to be quiet and calm. "And is Peter...well?

"For now. He's on his way back to Bristol. Wyndam wants to see him." Mitchell smiled again. Carl didn't ask the next question, knowing there was no point. He straightened up and nodded at Mitchell.

"You've saved me a trip. I was just coming to find you."

"Really. How...interesting. Now why would you be looking for me?" Mitchell said, stopping in front of Carl.

"Let her go, and we'll go grab a drink and talk about it."

"We may just do that," Mitchell continued to smile. "But first, I need you to answer two questions. One, who is your still-alive-at-this-moment human friend? And two, where are Nina and George?"

oooooooooo

Deireadh.


End file.
